We had only twelve more posts to go,
But we didn't know it then,
We were blind as bats in that howling snow,
So it could have been twenty, or ten.
Then across the bridge, just below the ridge
Over death's own gulch we lined
There was nothing there but frozen air
As we crossed toward Twenty, nine

And the shake of the cold and the enjine old,
Made us fear for our very souls
There was nothing to do but stare down the gulf,
And pray for the wheels to roll,
Then the air was filled with a blown out ring,
From the number one piston ring cryin';
So we vented her free and on jes' two and three,
Headed on toward Twenty, nine

Then up to the cab came a country gal
An' her name was Little Jane
And her words were soft as lilac fur,
But her eyes were gems and flame;
And she pushed the fireman to one side,
And stepped up to the hole
And she started in a filling that fire
With two hundred pounds of coal.
Then to her side stepped a man called Shane
With a greasy ducktail do;
An' he said, I'll grab a shovel here,
If you'll pay me with a brew.
And the boiler peaked, and the old rods creaked,
An' we crawled ahead, full blind.
Jes' pulling our best, as we turned to the crest,
And the light of Twenty, nine.

And over the ridge and into the light,
As the sun lifted into the sky,
Why, we had it made, as we topped the grade,
And down that hill did fly.
And some there are who scoffed and smiled,
And said we couldn't do it;
But the MOAB crew is of tougher stuff,
Than they seem, when they get up to it.
And those who scoffed, and those who sneered
When we broke into bright sunshine,
Wal they found they had somp'n else to do,
As we steamed past Twenty, nine, boys,
We flew past Twenty, nine.

Amadeus O'Stern Erstov
When the Wind Whistles Dixie
Wheeling, 1963