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The railroads and the riverboats that bred the mighty man |
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That we read about and we dream about, the men who built this land |
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And the farmers and the lumbermen and the men who worked the mills |
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And the poor hard working miners who died inside the hills |
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While the rivers that flow are the blood of our land |
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And the trucks they keep rumbling on the great concrete band |
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And the railroads keep pushing to be all they once were |
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And nature is calling, no one's listening to her |
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And the immigrants by the boat load in a dozen different tones |
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Sang of freedom in the new land, climbed the ladder rung by rung |
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Some to Boston, some to Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and St. Paul |
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And the old ways led to new days, they were welcome one and all |
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While the rivers that flow are the blood of our land |
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And the trucks they keep rumbling on the great concrete band |
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And the railroads keep pushing to be all they once were |
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And nature is calling, no one's listening to her |
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With the railroads and the riverboats and the bread lines far behind |
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And the days we sang together, long gone but still in mind |
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And the men who came before us, men who brought us to today |
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And the story still unravels from the dreams of yesterday |
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While the rivers that flow are the blood of our land |
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And the trucks they keep rumbling on the great concrete band |
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And the railroads keep pushing to be all they once were |
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And nature is calling, no one's listening to her |
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And nature is calling, no one's listening to her |
