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letra de the last letter - hank snow

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recorded by hank snow

[c] in the dodge city yards of the sante fe
stood a freight made up for the [g7] east
and the engineer with his oil and waste
was groomin’ the great iron [c] beast;

while ten cars back in the murky dust
a box-[c7] car door swung [f] wide
and a [g7] hobo lifted his pal aboard
to start on his last, long [c] ride;

a [f] lantern swung and the freight pulled out
the engine it gathered [c] speed
the [f] engineer pulled the throttle wide
and [d7] clucked to his fiery [g7] steed;

[c] ten cars back in the empty box
the hobo rolled a [g7] pill
the flare of the match showed his partners’ face
stark white and deathly [c] still;

as the train wheels clicked on the couplin’ joints
a [c7] song for the ramblers’ [f] ears
the [g7] hobo talked to the still, white form
his pal for many a [c] year;

[spoken]
[c] for a mighty long time we’ve rambled, jack
with the luck of men that [f] roam
with [g7] the back door steps for a dining room
and the boxcar for a [c] home;

we dodged the bulls on the eastern route
and the cops on the chesapeake
we travelled the leadville narrow gauge
in the days of cripple creek;

we drifted down through sunny cal
on the rails of the old s. p.
and of all you had, through good and bad
a half always belonged to me;

you made me promise to you, jack
if i lived and you cashed in
to take you back to the old churchyard
and bury you there with your kin;

you seemed to know i would keep my word
for you said that i was wise
well, i’m keepin my promise to you, pal
’cause i’m takin’ you home tonight;

i hadn’t the money to send you there
so i’m takin’ you back on the ‘fly’
it’s the decent way for a bo to go
home to the by and by;

i knew that fever had you, jack
and that doctor just wouldn’t come
he was too busy treatin’ the wealthy folks
to doctor a worn out b-m;

[sung]
[c] as the train rolled over it’s ribbon of steel
straight through to the east it [g7] sped
the engineer in his high cab seat
keep his eyes on the rails a-[c] head;

while ten cars back in the empty box
the lone-[c7] ly hobo [f] sighed
for the [g7] days of old and his pal so cold
was taking his last long [c] ride.

- hank snow

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