Well, Railroad Bob’s done lost his job, he’s got no place for working,
his wife, she cries with desperate eyes, their baby’s head’s a’ jerking.
The union man don’t give a ****, Big Brother lies a’ lurking,
and boss’ in cabs are picking scabs, they count their money, smirking.
Bob walks the streets and begs for eats or little jobs for trying
“the answer’s no, you ought to know, no use for you applying,
and don’t be sad, it aint that bad, it’s soon your time for dying.”
The air is thick, his baby’s sick, the cries are multiplying.
Bob’s wife’s in town, she’s broken down, she’s ranting with a fury,
their baby coughs, the doctor scoffs, the snow flies all a’ flurry.
Hard work’s the sin that’s done them in, they skirmish, scrimp and scurry,
and midnight dreams are filled with screams; Bob knows he needs to hurry.
It’s getting late, Bob’s tempting fate, his choices cruel and blurry,
He chooses gas, they breathe their last, there’s no more cause to worry.