F
I hear the train a-comin. It's rollin round the bend,
and I ain't seen
Bb
the sunshine since I don't know when.
I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and
F C
time keeps draggin on. But that train keeps a-rollin on
down the San
F
Antone. When I was just a baby, my mama told me, son,
always be a good
Bb
boy, don't ever play with guns, but I shot a man
in Reno just to watch
F C F
him die. When I hear that whistle blowin, I hang my head and cry.
I'll bet there's rich folks eatin on a fancy dinin car.
They're probly
drinkin coffee and smokin big cigars, well,
I know I had it comin, I
know I can't be free, but those people keep a-movin,
and that's what
tortures me. Well, if they free me from this prison,
if that railroad
train was mine, I bet I'd move it on a little farther
down the line, far
from Folsom Prison. That's where I want to stay.
And I'd let that
lonesome whistle blow my blues away.
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