Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Woody Guthrie
Oh, that train I ride on is a hundred coaches long
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles
If that train runs right I'll be home tomorrow night
'Cause I'm nine-hundred miles from my home
And I hate to hear that lonesome whistle blow
I'm a-walkin' down that track
I've got tears in my eyes
Trying to read the letter from my home
If that train runs right, I'll see my woman Saturday night
I'm nine-hundred miles from my home
And I hate to hear that lonesome whistle blow