As i was out walking on a corner one day,
i spied an old hobo, in a doorway he lay.
his face was all grounded in the cold sidewalk floor
and i guess he'd been there for the whole night or more.
Only a hobo, but one more is gone
leavin' nobody to sing his sad song
leavin' nobody to carry him home
only a hobo, but one more is gone
A blanket of newspaper covered his head,
as the curb was his pillow, the street was his bed.
one look at his face showed the hard road he'd come
and a fistful of coins showed the money he bummed.
Only a hobo, but one more is gone
leavin' nobody to sing his sad song
leavin' nobody to carry him home
only a hobo, but one more is gone
Does it take much of a man to see his whole life go down,
to look up on the world from a hole in the ground,
to wait for your future like a horse that's gone lame,
to lie in the gutter and die with no name?
Only a hobo, but one more is gone
leavin' nobody to sing his sad song
leavin' nobody to carry him home
only a hobo, but one more is gone