| One dark and stormy night while riding down the line; | |
| Railroad Bill, the engineer said, "Boy, we'll have to fly!" | |
| We've got to be on time, to meet old Number Four. | |
| So sling the coal, we'll make it, boy, or never ride no more. | |
| While in the rear boxcar, a lonely hobo lay, | |
| Heading for his mother dear, who on her death-bed lay; | |
| He raised a weary hand, to brush away a tear, | |
| Not knowing his last drive was run, and Fate was drawing near. | |
| When through the darkened night, a headlight bright did gleam, | |
| O'er the roar of rolling wheels, a whistle load did scream; | |
| As down around the curve, the mighty train did roar, | |
| With black smoke rolling from the stack, came Flyer Number Four. | |
| Then came an awful crash! Their last long drive was run, | |
| On the track the hobo lay, his days of life were done; | |
| And as the golden sun, sank slowly to the west, | |
| His dear old mother gently smiled, and closed her eyes in death. |