Knights of the Rail - Cretin

Trampin life for me.

You sometimes spy us passin by rails and gut- ters,

alleyways and highways on

the sly.

Lies been told and now we hobos follow one of two men, I guess you

call em generals or some

likewise thing.

Quit my buskin, beatin trains, back door bummin, and dodgin bulls.

Wear the badge of the Bindlestiff

Boys now, I go to war.

Code of the Road’s been broke, now the jungle’s deadly

dark.

Hid behind blanket

rucks and set booby traps neath stew pots.

Cracked cookee’s head on the tracks

too.

Yeggs poisoned

whiteline cups and hanged Buck a switchstand rod.

We buried Buck near his tree.

Some damn boe hit

me with a spider pan down yonder spur line.

Tracked that yegg by smell and got

his blood all in my

shoes.

Stay away from missions, there ain’t no chance we will be saved cause

all em drifters grind their

shivs, waitin for lights out.

So our generals cocted a plan, they’d stand atop the trestle.

Men on either

side watched below.

Clem

chucked his beans.

We laughed.

Last to leap from the tracks wins and hells,

that rattler was comin fast

round the blind, whistlin mad.

Gone was the bad blood, only cheers,

all us shoutin praise and tears fallin

as the cowcatch come.

All won that day for neither man budged but clasped their

hands.

The squeal of

brake never did quite sound.