Harry Lee’s plantation’s down by Governor’s Bay,
His manor’s made of ivory stone and clay.
Saw him fishin’ last week by the riverside,
He said ‘you can run, man, but you can’t hide’.
He got bloodhounds and he got highwaymen,
I got my eyes open in Boxcar 10.
Here, there’s man and woman, big and small,
There’s starvin’ hobos ready to brawl,
A one-eyed mongrel with a stiff upper lip,
And fat man Warren’s built like a whalin’ ship,
There’s an outlaw priest saying ‘Amen’,
The skies are gray over Boxcar 10.
We got three long days on Harry’s boys,
But they move pretty quick and they got fancy toys.
The pale blue swallows on the railroad wire,
Trill tales of justice like a chapel choir.
They tell of good things happenin’ to honest men,
They tell a lotta lies around Boxcar 10.
Now I have me a gun and a jawbone knife,
I could write you a sermon about theft and strife,
‘Harry, listen, I’m a braggart, I’m the devil’s son,
And, man, what I do cannot be undone,
So send those pretty palominos and those riflemen,
We’ll feast on their corpses in Boxcar 10’.
We got a couple of three-string guitars and a chrome steel gong,
And we’re gonna sing every one of Woody Guthrie’s songs,
We’ll sing for freedom, faith and every hard-earned mile,
For whiskey and victory and women of style.
90 miles to Florence’s but until then,
It’s just us and the night here in Boxcar 10