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Cretin
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Knights Of The Rail
Trampin life for me. You sometimes spy us passin by rails and gut- ters, alleyways and highways on
the sly. Lies been told and now we hobos follow one of two men, I guess you call em generals or some
likewise thing.
Quit my buskin, beatin trains, back door bummin, and dodgin bulls. Wear the badge of the Bindlestiff
Boys now, I go to war. Code of the Road's been broke, now the jungle's deadly dark. Hid behind blanket
rucks and set booby traps neath stew pots. Cracked cookee's head on the tracks too. Yeggs poisoned
whiteline cups and hanged Buck a switchstand rod. We buried Buck near his tree. Some damn boe hit
me with a spider pan down yonder spur line. Tracked that yegg by smell and got his blood all in my
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shoes. Stay away from missions, there ain't no chance we will be saved cause all em drifters grind their
shivs, waitin for lights out.
So our generals cocted a plan, they'd stand atop the trestle. Men on either side watched below. Clem
chucked his beans. We laughed. Last to leap from the tracks wins and hells, that rattler was comin fast
round the blind, whistlin mad. Gone was the bad blood, only cheers, all us shoutin praise and tears fallin
as the cowcatch come. All won that day for neither man budged but clasped their hands. The squeal of
brake never did quite sound.
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