Recorded by Hank Snow 
Words and music by Halcomb & Daffan 
 
C In the Dodge City yards of the Sante Fe 
Stood a freight made up for the G7 east 
And the engineer with his oil and waste 
Was groomin' the great iron C beast; 
 
While ten cars back in the murky dust 
A box-{C7} car door swung F wide 
And a G7 hobo lifted his pal aboard 
To start on his last, long C ride; 
 
A F lantern swung and the freight pulled out 
The engine it gathered C speed 
The F engineer pulled the throttle wide 
And D7 clucked to his fiery G7 steed; 
 
C Ten cars back in the empty box 
The hobo rolled a G7 pill 
The flare of the match showed his partners' face 
Stark white and deathly C still; 
 
As the train wheels clicked on the couplin' joints 
A C7 song for the ramblers' F ears 
The G7 hobo talked to the still, white form 
His pal for many a C year; 
 
{SPOKEN} 
C For a mighty long time we've rambled, Jack 
With the luck of men that F roam 
With G7 the back door steps for a dining room 
And the boxcar for a C home; 
 
We dodged the bulls on the eastern route 
And the cops on the Chesapeake 
We travelled the Leadville Narrow Gauge 
In the days of Cripple Creek;  
 
We drifted down through sunny Cal 
On the rails of the old S. P. 
And of all you had, through good and bad 
A half always belonged to me;  
 
You made me promise to you, Jack 
If I lived and you cashed in 
To take you back to the old churchyard 
And bury you there with your kin; 
 
You seemed to know I would keep my word 
For you said that I was wise 
Well, I'm keepin my promise to you, pal 
'Cause I'm takin' you home tonight; 
 
I hadn't the money to send you there 
So I'm takin' you back on the 'fly' 
It's the decent way for a Bo to go 
Home to the by and by;              
 
I knew that fever had you, Jack 
And that doctor just wouldn't come 
He was too busy treatin' the wealthy folks 
To doctor a worn out bum;           
 
{SUNG} 
C As the train rolled over it's ribbon of steel 
Straight through to the east it G7 sped 
The engineer in his high cab seat 
Keep his eyes on the rails a-{C} head; 
 
While ten cars back in the empty box 
The lone-{C7} ly hobo F sighed 
For the G7 days of old and his pal so cold 
Was taking his last long C ride.