| Parapliers the willow dipped |
| Rolled roots gnarled like rakers |
| This hollow hole don’t hold no jokers or fakers |
| Don’t fall by no jokers or fakers |
| Puller down to the stirrin' hay acres |
| Parapliers pinches uh levy 'n pulled way through the toe |
| Foothills, locomotives walked 'n sugar beets rolled |
| Down the tracks |
| Sunburn bounce soot off the black smokestacks |
| Parapliers pinched up slow down the sky |
| Blue 'o' poured the engineer’s voice |
| Whstlin' down low 'n piped like clacks |
| By the ol' scarecrow |
| 'N pots 'n pans burn the fireman’s hands till the |
| Kettle leaped fire round the belly 'o' |
| The bayou boy bums with sunken gums |
| 'N pits his strength to the 7th sons down |
| Parapliers rumbled like uh straight iron gun |
| Like uh red hot iron through the egg white 'o' |
| Sunnyland drum, horn blow |
| Sun like uh bubble pop yellow, down she go |
| Mah cowcatcher whistled like uh steel flash scream |
| Hose sucked out for water 'n the wheeldriver |
| Sparkled like an Indian flint |
| 'N the fireman 'n the brakeman bent 'n waved his long red underwear arm |
| All aboard |
| The lantern flared 'n the caboose waved uh green gone on |