Railroad Balladeer

Jesse was a hobo who had a love for trains
He rode them all from Birmingham clear up to Bangor, Maine
From Boston out to ‘Frisco, from Houston to St. Paul
With thirty years of hoppin’ trains, old Jesse rode them all

Jesse had a French harp and an old beat up guitar
He would entertain his friends around the railroad yard
He wasn’t much in singin’, he’d go from sharp to flat
But he would sure put on a show when someone passed the hat

He’d pick the wildwood flower and then he’d blow the blues
He’d sing of trains, of love and pain, like only he could do
Around the camps and railroad yards they’ll speak of him for years
He wasn’t just a hobo, but a railroad balladeer

Jesse died one summer, on a hot day in July
The engineers all bowed their heads and the hobos they all cried
If Heaven’s got a railroad track, Ole’ Jesse’s right at home
Singin’ songs and ridin’ trains around the Master’s throne

Repeat Chorus