On a cold frosty morn' in the month of September the clouds were hanging so low. Ninety-seven pulled out from Washington station like an arrow shot from a bow.
Oh, they gave him his orders at Monroe, Virginia, sayin, "Steve, you're way behind time. This is not 38, it's The Old 97, you must put her into Spencer on time."
So he turned around and said to his black, greasy fireman, "Shovel on a little more coal, And when we cross that White Oak Mountain, you can watch Old 97 roll."
But it's a mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville, the line's on a three mile grade. It was on that grade that he lost his air brake, you should see what a jump he made.
And then a telegram came to Washington Station And this is how it read: "Oh that brave Engineer that run Old 97, is lyin' in Danville dead."
'Cause he was goin' down grade doin' 90 miles an hour when the whistle broke into a scream. He was found in the wreck with his hand on the throttle, scalded to death by the steam.
Now all you ladies had better take warning, from this time on and learn, Never speak harsh words to your true lovin' husband, he may leave you and never return.