Rocking through Georgia with Jesus

Caught his train, a hobo in life’s bat rain.

Don’t look no right or left, ain’t no cop on my trail — I didn’t go to rusk, didn’t go insane.

Told me to come up from coach, my Southland is shooting by fast.

Ain’t Roy Rogers, but with Jesus, I’ll head ’em off at the pass.

Don’t cut me no slack, I ain’t no dumb cluck, don’t carry no cash.

Can’t send the TV minister what I ain’t got — anyway, he’d just think I’m white trash.

This choo-choo is a-limited. That means we ball the jack, stop here and there.

But with Jesus it is Warbash. The crossings arms may be all down, but brother, do the Lord get around!

Jet planes may huff and puff but that ain’t enough to get the earth bound all aboard on.

Getting some hat on what we down, deep down, do, and that is, we are coming on through.

I won’t be getting off here, going to the big city that don’t have no yard limits to clear.

Choo-choo, baby, you better get saved, then you’ll be on the high iron to just a temporary grave.

The switchman will uncouple your soul and make you up with a heaven bound train.