Well they busted up the dining room, to make that boiler burn,
They threw in passengers walking sticks, and Grandma's funeral urn,
They tore up every book on board, not just the ones wuz banned,
To make the boiler hotter still, and reach the ole Twelve Grand.

It was straining everybody's brain, and everybody's heart,
And the passengers cried out in fear, "Oh, why'd we ever start?"
They could not face the haunted looks, on the old an' tired hands,
Who staggered on into the night, all bound to make Twelve Grand.

They threw in everything they had! Ole poems from other folks!
Translations out of Babel Fish, and Donnie Osbourne jokes!
They threw in the Old Testament, and the Brotherhood of Man;
They swore they'd burn the train itself, if they could make Twelve Grand.

And when the morning sun came up, bright in the azure sky,
Where cows and chickens all lay flat,
From the wind of her passing by,
There's a smudge of smoke, out over the hill,
Yon toward the Promised Land.
And the MOAB crew take their rest at last,
For they got her past Twelve Grand.