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AMERICAN BALLADS AND SONGS 133
Come all you rounders for I want you to hear
The story told of an engineer;
Casey Jones was the rounder's name,
A heavy right (eight?) wheeler of a mighty fame.
Caller called Jones about half past four, He kissed his wife at the station door, Climbed into the cab with the orders in his hand, Says, "This is my trip to the holy land."
Through South Memphis yards on the fly, He heard the fore boy say, "You've got a white eye." All the switchmen knew by the engine moan That the man at the throttle was Casey Jones.
It had been raining some five or six weeks, The railroad track was like the bed of a creek. They rated him down to a thirty mile gait, Threw the south-bound mail about eight hours late.
Foreman says, " Casey, you're runnin' too fast, You run the block board the last station you passed." Jones says, "Yes, I believe we'll make it, though, For she steams better than I ever know."
Jones says, "Foreman, don't you fret; i Keep knockin' at the fire door, don't give up yet