Ol' morning crimson dawn

...there's a creek now on the floor

Do the paupers sleep tonight?

Do the children read or write? There's a pot a brewin'

A beat-up cup for fillin'

Now the paper is saying that are polls are shifting Our train's ahead

and its patrons have been so mislead

Judges play gypsy roles

cherry pickin' while the gentleman falls Aching prophets scurry south

Tangled up in all their vows

They can hear us from the street

It's a shame we can't retreat You see the road is seasoned

with the bows of treason

Painted wagons are gleamin'

while the dust is settling Our train's ahead

and its patrons have been so mislead

Judges play gypsy roles

cherry pickin' while the gentleman falls There's a pot a brewin!