Declamation Piece: Casey Jones
By Lhenn on Jan 13, 2010 with Comments 0
Come, all you rounder, for I want you to hear
The story told of an engineer;
Casey Jones was the rounder’s name,
A heavy eight-wheeler of a mighty fame.
Caller called Jones about half past four.
He kissed his wife at the station door,
Climbed into the cab with the orders in his hand,
Says, “This is my trip to the holy land.”
Through South Memphis yards on the fly,
He heard the fore boy say, “You’ve got a white eye,”
All the switchmen knew by the engine moan
That the man at the throttle was Casey Jones.
It had been raining some five or six weeks,
The railroad track was like the bed of a creek.
They rated him down to a thirty-mile gait,
Threw the southbound mail about eight hours late.
Foreman says, “Casey, you’re runnin’ too fast,
You run the block board the last station you passed.”
Jones says, “Yes, I believe we’ll make it, though,
For the steams better than I ever know.”
Jones says, “Foreman, don’t you fret;
Keep knockin’ at the fire door, don’t give up yet.
I’m going to run her till she leaves the rail,
Or make it on time with the Southern mail.”
Around the curve and down the dump,
Two locomotives were bound to bump.
Foreman hollered, “Jones, it’s just ahead,
We might jump and make it, but we’ll all be dead.”
It was around this curve he spied a passenger train,
Rousing his engine he caused the bell to ring;
Foreman jumped off, but Jones stayed on
He’s a good engineer, but he’s dead and gone.
Poor Casey Jones was all right,
For he stuck to his duty both day and night,
They loved to hear his whistle and ring of number three,
As he came into Memphis on the old I.C.
Headaches and heartaches and all kinds of pain
Are not apart from a railroad train;
Tales that is in earnest, noble, and grand,
Belong to the life of a railroad man.
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