Riding on that eastbound freight train
Speeding through the night
Hobo Bill a railroad bum
Was fighting for his life
The sadness of his eyes revealed
The torture of his soul
He raised a weak
And weary hand to brush away the cold
Ho-bo Bill
No warm lights flickered round him no
Blankets there to hold
Nothing but the howling wind
And the driving rain so cold
When he heard a whistle blowing
In a dreamy kind of way
The hobo seemed contented
For he smiled there where he lay
Ho-bo Bill
Outside the rain was falling on
That lonely boxcar door
But the little form of Hobo Bill lay
Still upon the floor
There was no mother's longing
To soothe his weary soul
For he was just a railroad bum
Who died out in the cold
Ho-bo Bill