If someone was to write a guthrie style song about the situation, would it go like this?

A hobo was sittin' by the rail yard one night
with a far away look in his eye
He said," Boys, I'll be hopping that westbound freight,
when the Guthrie exhibit rolls by.

I've been all around this country of ours
Even been down to Washin'ton DC
But the damned curators have kicked Woody out.
And that just don't seem right to me

I'm a poor folk musician, or so I've been told
by people who wouldn't have lied
so I'll try swingin' up on that train rollin' by,
'cause I cain't buy a ticket to ride

They found him next mornin' near the bend in the track
all sticky and barely alive
the one thing unbroken in his spill from the train
was his old Martin D-35... in the grey-blue luggage- style carrying case, that looked real ugly, but had good shock resistance

I swunged up and sang Guthrie's songs, he did say
but they disliked the meter and rhyme
I've been throwed out of lots better places then that
but those places weren't rollin at the time

Now you take my guitar and you write songs about
the crime that to me has been done
If they toss a folk singer, and not let him linger
they might do the same to anyone

now the rich and famous are glad that he's gone
and to their own warts they are blind
but the people of worth are the salt of the earth
Like Woody and all of his kind

At that the ol' folk singing hobo did die
with his tongue planted firmly in cheek
it sure is the way that I wrote out these words
but it sure makes it awkward to speak

Line Breaks <br> added.
-Joe Offer-