I hear the train a commin
it´s rollin´round the band
and I ain´t have seen the sunshine
since, I don´t know when
I´m stuck at Folsom prison
and time keeps dragin´ on
but than train keeps rollin
on down to San Anton.
When I was just a baby my mamma told me son
always be a good boy, don´t ever play with guns
but I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die
when I hear that whistle blowin´
I hang my head and cry.
I bet there´s rich folks eating in fancy dining car
they´re probly drinkin coffe and smokin´ big cigars
but I know I had it commin´ I know I can´t be free
but those people keep a movin´and that´s what
tortures me.
Well if they fred me from this prison
if that railroad train was mind
I bet I´d move on over a little feather down the line
far from Folsom prison that´s wher I want to say
and I´d let that Lonesome whistle blow my
blues away.
