Riding on an 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-o-bo-o 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-o-bo-o Bill...(pick one)
Outside the rain was falling on a lonely boxcar door
But the little form of Hobo Bill lay dead upon the floor
And there was no mother's longing to soothe his weary soul
For he was just a hobo and he died out in the cold
Ho-o-bo-o Bill