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I hear the train a-comin. It's rollin round the bend, and I ain't seen
SIb
the sunshine since I don't know when. I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and
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time keeps draggin on. But that train keeps a-rollin on down the San
FA
Antone. When I was just a baby, my mama told me, son, always be a good
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boy, don't ever play with guns, but I shot a man in Reno just to watch
FA DO FA
him die. When I hear that whistle blowin, I hang my head and cry.
I'll bet there's rich folks eatin on a fancy dinin car. They're probly
drinkin coffee and smokin big cigars, well, I know I had it comin, I
know I can't be free, but those people keep a-movin, and that's what
tortures me. Well, if they free me from this prison, if that railroad
train was mine, I bet I'd move it on a little farther down the line, far
from Folsom Prison. That's where I want to stay. And I'd let that
lonesome whistle blow my blues away.
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