Goin’ Home On The Old Southern Rail


The dance hall is gone, and the opium den,
And the mine shaft is dark as a tomb;
The gambler’s loss is long forgotten’
The outlaw seals his doom.
And though you say you’re able,
And play by the rules of the of the game,
The north wind will call, and take it all,
And blow away your name.

No more I’ll ride shotgun, no more will I carry
Bad news to the boys at the jail;
They can stew in their juice in the calaboose,
I’m goin’ home on the old Southern Rail.

The people out here, they ain’t worth a tear,
They forget all their pride and their pain;
Memory fades like rodeo poster
Left hangin’ too long in the rain.
They wander all lost in a dream;
Somethin’ is wrong, and the magic is gone,
And thing ain’t what they seem.

No more I’ll ride shotgun, no more will I carry
Bad news to the boys at the jail;
They can Stew in their juice in calaboose,
I’m goin’ home on the old Southern Rail.

The girls at Arroyo Hondo they know me,
And I will remember them all;
They welcome me in with arms so willin’,
And I tell them my tales so tall.
But there nothin’ out here but sagebrush and cedar,
There nothin’ but shadows and sun;
I got nothin’ to lose, and I’m damned if I choose
To die with my hand on a gun.

No more I’m ride shotgun, no more will I carry
Bad news to the boys at the jail;
They can stew in their juice in the calaboose,
I’m goin’ home on the old Southern Rail.

Page Brownton