I'd play the Red River Valley
and he'd sit out in the kitchen and cry
run his fingers through seventy years of living
and wondering Lord, has every well I drilled run dry?
we were friends, me and this old man

Like desperadoes waiting for a train
like desperadoes waiting for a train

He's a drifter and a driller of oil wells
and an old school man of the world
he let me drive his car when he's too drunk to
and he'd wink and give me money for the girls
and our lives were like some old Western movie

Like desperadoes waiting for a train
like desperadoes waiting for a train

From the time that I could walk he'd take me with him
to a bar called the Green Frog Caf�
there were old men with beer guts and dominoes
lying about their lives while they played
and I was just a kid they called his sidekick

Like desperadoes waiting for a train
like desperadoes waiting for a train

One day I look up and he's pushing eighty
and there's brown tobacco stains all down his chin
to me he's one of the heroes of this country
so why's he all dressed up like them old men?
drinking beer and singing Moon and Forty-two

Like desperadoes waiting for a train
like desperadoes waiting for a train

The day before he died I went to see him
I was grown and he was almost gone
so we just closed our eyes and dreamed us up a kitchen
and sang another verse to that old song
(Come on Jack, that son of a gun's a-comin')

Like desperadoes waiting for a train
like desperadoes waiting for a train

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