I love waking in the morning,
to the train horns blow,
sitting by my campfire with hot coffee,
nowhere in particular to go.
Hopping into a boxcar in the cold of winter,
when Santa Clause says ho, ho, ho.
riding in the warm rear unit,
when outside lies three feet of snow.
When I first started hopping freight trains,
I had to depend on faith,
Like heading down a steep, steep mountain,
praying for the dynamic brakes.
Traveling here & there,
always on a whim,
I walk into camp & say, “Good morning New York Slim”,
how about catching-out to Cheyenne today?
while leaving camp with a grin.
By the way, I didn’t buy vodka,
since on sale was this bottle of gin.
So drink up you hobo,
today may be your last,
lets get inside that boxcar,
after you finish eating hash.
Lets see the sights in awe,
as we look out the boxcar all day,
the best thing about this trip,
is we do not have to pay.
We flirt with a derailment,
a derailment do we flirt,
if it ever does happen,
let’s hope we don’t get hurt.
So put on the miles as you travel,
each & every day,
from June of every year,
all the way to May.