Harry “Haywire Mac” McClintock
One evening as the sun went down
And the jungle fire was burning,
Down the track came a hobo hiking
And he said, “Boys, I’m not turning,
I’m headed for a land that’s far away,
Beside the crystal fountain.
So come with me: we’ll go and see
The Big Rock Candy Mountain.
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
There’s a land that’s fair and bright,
And the handouts grow on bushes,
And you sleep out every night;
Where the boxcars all are empty,
And the sun shines every day;
Where there’s birds and bees
And the cigarette trees,
Where the lemonade springs
And the bluebird sings—
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
All the cops have wooden legs;
The bulldogs have rubber teeth,
And the hens lay soft-boiled eggs;
Where the farmers’ trees are full of fruit,
And the barns are full of hay,
Oh, I’m bound to go
Where there ain’t no snow,
Where the rain don’t fall,
And the wind don’t blow—
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
You never change your socks,
And the little streams of alcohol
Come trickling down the rocks;
Where the brakemen have to tip their hat,
And the railroads pull their blinds.
Oh, a lake of stew, and whiskey, too;
You can paddle around in a big canoe—
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
All the jails are made of tin,
And you can walk right out again
Just as soon as you are in;
Where there ain’t no short-handled shovels,
No axes, saws or picks;
Where they hang the Turk
That invented work—
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.