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(Don Lange)

I never knew my grandad, he was always on the bum
Every September he'd get on the Southbound and ride
Then round about Christmas, me and my brother
We'd get a few coins in the mail we'd go and spend them,
They were all he could send from that Mexico City jail

Here's to you rounders and here's to you railroad bums
Hope that you make it home soon
Here's to the women who married for love
And lived with the man in the moon

Back in the thirties when the going got rough
Old grandad, he'd hit the road
Mother was young then, she only remembered his name
Then granny got work in the canning factory
She took in some wash on the side
She promised herself that she'd never forgive him
A promise she kept till she died

One time near the end, he rolled into town
He was riding the greyhound line
I guess he got old and those boxcars were harder to climb
He dropped his last dime in a call to my granny
But "no" was here only reply
She hung up the phone, she cursed him in German
But I saw the pain in her eye

I never knew my grandad, he was always on the bum
The Salvation Army wrote us a note when he died
Now me and my brother carry the memory
Of a place we never did see
Like some foreign coin that lies cold in the pocket
Of a young boy's dirty blue jeans

Copyright Barking Spider Music
@bum @train
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