Walter Saunders
Come all you rounders, I want you to hear
The story told of a brave engineer.
Old Casey Jones was the rounder’s name;
On a six-eight wheeler he won his fame.
Caller called Casey at half-past four;
He kissed his wife at the station door,
Climbed into the cab with his orders in his hand,
Says, “This is my trip to the Promised Land.”
Through the South Memphis yards on the fly,
He heard his fireboy say, “You got a white eye.”
And all the switchmen knew by the engine’s moans
That the man at the throttle was Casey Jones.
It had been raining some five or six weeks;
The railroad track looked like the bed of a creek.
They loaded him down to a thirty-mile gait
And threw the southbound mail about eight hours late.
Fireman hollered: “Casey, you’re going too fast.
You run the block-board the last station we passed.”
Casey says: “Yes, but I think we’ll make it through,
For she’s steaming better than ever I knew.”
Says Casey: “Fireman, don’t you fret.
Keep knocking at that firebox; don’t you give up yet,
For I’m going to run her till she leaves the rail
Or make it on time with the southbound mail.”
Around the curve and over the hump,
Two locomotives were bound to bump.
Fireman hollered: “Casey, she’s just ahead!
We might jump and make it, but we’ll be dead!”
Around the curve he spied a train,
Reversing his engine caused bells to ring.
Fireman jumped off, but Casey stayed on.
He’s a good engineer, but he’s dead and gone.
Poor Casey Jones, he was all right.
He stuck to his duty both day and night.
They loved to hear his whistle and the ring of Number 3,
And he came into Memphis on the old I C.
Headaches and backaches and all kinds of pain
Are not apart from a railroad train.
Tales that are earnest, noble and grand
Are all in the life of a railroad man.