| I remember as a boy
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| How I’d wander and enjoy
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| I’d watch the trains as they’d go by
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| And the whistle’s lonely sound
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| You could hear for miles around
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| As they rolled across that Greenville trestle high
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| But the whistles don’t sound like they used to
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| Lately not many trains go by
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| Hard times across the land
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| Mean no work for the railroad man
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| And the Greenville trestle now don’t seem so high
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| On the river bank I’d stand
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| With a cane pole in my hand
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| Watch the freight trains up against the sky
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| With black smoke trailing back
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| As they moved along the track
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| That runs across that Greenville trestle high
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| But the whistles don’t sound like they used to
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| Lately not many trains go by
|
| Hard times across this land
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| Mean no work for the railroad man
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| And the Greenville trestle now don’t seem so high
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| When the lonesome whistles wind
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| I get ramblin' on my mind
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| Lord, I wish they still sounded that way
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| As I turned to head for home
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| Lord, she’d rumble low and long
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| Towards the sunset at the close of day
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| No, the whistles don’t sound like they used to
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| Lately not many trains go by
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| Hard times across the land
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| Mean no work for the railroad man
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| And the Greenville trestle now don’t seem so high
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| No, the Greenville trestle now don’t seem so high |