Riding on that eastbound freight train speeding through the night Hobo Bill the railroad bum was fighting for his life And the sadness of his eyes revealed the torture of his soul He raised a weak and weary hand to brush away the cold No warm lights flickered around him, no blankets there to hold Nothing but the howling wind, the driving rain so cold When I heard a whistle blowing in a dreamy kind of way The hobo seemed contented for he smiled there where he lay Hey, Ho-bo Bill Outside the rain was falling on the lonely boxcar door But the little form of Hobo Bill lay dead upon the floor While this train sped through the darkness, through the raging storm outside No one knew that Hobo Bill was taking his last ride Hey, Ho-bo Bill