I once lived a man, he came from Mexico They called him poor hobo, his name was Lonesome Joe
He would ride the blinds, ride the rods below The cinders from the freight had scarred his face, you know
He knew every rail, he knew every tie He knew every water tank that he passed by
And everywhere he went, they called him poor hobo He lived a lonesome life, his name was Lonesome Joe
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He knew every house and every store Where they would give a hand to a poor hobo
He would tip his hat in the nicest way And he'd bow real low in a graceful way
He'd eat a country ham and he'd eat a country ham

Enjoy the fat
He'd take a hard-boiled egg and put it in his hat
He'd ask to mow your lawn in a tone of woe You'd know he'd never work this lonesome poor hobo
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His shoes were always worn, sometimes they wouldn't match
His hat was always flopped, his clothes were always patched
He had the finest watch on the finest chain
He'd keep the closest time on the fastest train
I've seen him catch up right the best
in the land. I've seen him *** a freighter sandwich in his hand. He saw all the world
but never made no dough and died a happy man. His name was Lonesome Joe.