One dark and stormy night,
while riding down the line,
Railroad
Bill, an engineer, said, boy,
we'll have to fly.
We've got to be on time
to meet old number four
So I sling the call, we'll make it four
I'll never ride no more
While in the rear -box car
A lonely hobo lay
Headin' for his mother dear
on a deathbed lay, he raised a weary hand to brush away a tear,
not knowing his last
drive would run,
and fate was drawing near.
When through the darkened night,
a headlight bright did gleam,
Above the roar of a rolling wheel,
the whistle out did scream.
As down around the curve,
this mighty train did roar.
The black smoke rolling from the stack,
came fly a number four.
Then came an awful crash,
Their last long drive was rung,
There on the track the hobo lay,
his days of life were done.
And as the golden sun sang
slowly to the west,
His dear old mother gently smiled
and closed her eyes in debt.