| |
| IT’S going to come out all right—do you know? | |
| The sun, the birds, the grass—they know. | |
| They get along—and we’ll get along. | |
| |
| Some days will be rainy and you will sit waiting | |
| And the letter you wait for won’t come, | 5 |
| And I will sit watching the sky tear off gray and gray | |
| And the letter I wait for won’t come. | |
| |
| There will be ac-ci-dents. | |
| I know ac-ci-dents are coming. | |
| Smash-ups, signals wrong, washouts, trestles rotten, | 10 |
| Red and yellow ac-ci-dents. | |
| But somehow and somewhere the end of the run | |
| The train gets put together again | |
| And the caboose and the green tail lights | |
| Fade down the right of way like a new white hope. | 15 |
| |
| I never heard a mockingbird in Kentucky | |
| Spilling its heart in the morning. | |
| |
| I never saw the snow on Chimborazo. | |
| It’s a high white Mexican hat, I hear. | |
| |
| I never had supper with Abe Lincoln. | 20 |
| Nor a dish of soup with Jim Hill. | |
| |
| But I’ve been around. | |
| I know some of the boys here who can go a little. | |
| I know girls good for a burst of speed any time. | |
| |
| I heard Williams and Walker | 25 |
| Before Walker died in the bughouse. | |
| |
| I knew a mandolin player | |
| Working in a barber shop in an Indiana town, | |
| And he thought he had a million dollars. | |
| |
| I knew a hotel girl in Des Moines. | 30 |
| She had eyes; I saw her and said to myself | |
| The sun rises and the sun sets in her eyes. | |
| I was her steady and her heart went pit-a-pat. | |
| We took away the money for a prize waltz at a Brotherhood dance. | |
| She had eyes; she was safe as the bridge over the Mississippi at Burlington; I married her. | 35 |
| |
| Last summer we took the cushions going west. | |
| Pike’s Peak is a big old stone, believe me. | |
| It’s fastened down; something you can count on. | |
| |
| It’s going to come out all right—do you know? | |
| The sun, the birds, the grass—they know. | 40 |
| They get along—and we’ll get along. | |
| |
