Just a mile west of the water tank on a cold November day
In a cold and lonesome boxcar a dying hobo lay
His pal sat there before him with a low and drooping head
Listening to the last words his dying buddy said
Goodbye old partner hobo, I hate to say goodbye
But I hear my train a-coming and I know she's a-getting nigh
Gonna tell that old conductor just where I want to stop
Where the little stream of whiskey comes flowing down the rock
We rode the rods together
We rode the rods together

We rambled all around
In every kind of weather
We've slept out on the ground
Old partner, don't you miss that train
That always makes us stop
Where the little stream of whiskey comes flowing down the rock
Would you tell my girl in Danville that she need not to worry at all
I'm a-going to that country where I won't have to work at all
No, I will not have to work there nor even change my socks
And the little stream of whiskey comes flowing down the rock
I'm a-going to that better place where everything is right
Where the handouts grow on bushes and they sleep out every night
Won't have to wash my overhauls nor even change my socks
And the little stream of whiskey comes flowing down the rock
I'm a-going to that better place where everything is right
Where the little stream of whiskey comes flowing down the rock