| I stood on the Atlantic Ocean
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| On the wide Pacific shore
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| Heard the Queen of flowing mountains
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| To the South Belle by the door
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| She’s long and tall and handsome
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| She’s loved by one and all
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| She’s a modern combination
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| Called the Wabash Cannonball
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| Now listen to the jingle
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| The rumble and the roar
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| Riding through the woodlands
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| Through the hills and by the shore
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| Hear the mighty rush of engines
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| Hear that lonesome hobo squall
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| Riding through the jungles
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| On the Wabash Cannonball
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| Now the eastern states are dandies
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| So the western people say
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| From New York to St. Louis
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| And Chicago by the way
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| Through the hills of Minnesota
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| Where them rippling waters fall
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| No chances can be taken on the Wabash Cannonball
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| Now listen to the jingle
|
| The rumble and the roar
|
| Riding through the woodlands
|
| Through the hills and by the shore
|
| Hear the mighty rush of engines
|
| Hear that lonesome hobo squall
|
| Riding through the jungles
|
| On the Wabash Cannonball
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| Here’s to Daddy Claxton
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| May his name forever stand
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| Will he be remembered
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| Through parts of all our land?
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| When his earthly race is over
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| the curtain 'round him falls
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| We’ll carry him on to victory
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| On the Wabash Cannonball
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| Listen to the jingle
|
| The rumble and the roar
|
| Riding through the woodlands
|
| Through the hills and by the shore
|
| Hear the mighty rush of engines
|
| Hear that lonesome hobo squall
|
| Riding through the jungles
|
| On the Wabash Cannonball |