Page:Poems for Workers - ed. Manuel Gomez (1925).djvu/44

 Nobody Knows

By

Oh, nobody knows where the hobo goes,

Nobody knows, nobody knows;

Nobody knows where the hobo goes,

That’s the way the old song goes.

Boom a little saxophone, rap the little drums,

Make a little music for the doggone bums,

And we'll sing a little ditty till the old freight comes,

Then we’re going where nobody knows.

There's nobody knows where the hobo goes

When the sun shines warm and jungles call,

Oh, nobody knows where the old bo goes

When the long straw's yellow in the fall.

Old cars a-coughin' up the old Soo line,

Hoosier's surely makin' that old separator whine,

Pitchin' in the field is where the old boes shine;

Oh, nobody knows where the old bo goes

When the long straw's yellow in the fall.

And nobody knows where the young bo goes

When the cold north wind

Starts to whistle through his clothes;

Oh, nobody knows where the young bo goes

When the snowballs rattle on his spine.

Turp' camp down in Gawgia,

Cracker on a stump;

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