I hear the train a cominī
itīs rolling round the bend
and I ainīt seen the sunshine since I donīt know when,
Iīm stuck in Folsom prison, and time keeps dragginī on
but that train keeps a rollinī on down to San Anton..
When I was just a baby my mama told me. Son,
always be a good boy, donīt ever play with guns.
But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die
now every time I hear that whistle I hang my head and cry..
I bet thereīs rich folks eating in a fancy dining car
theyīre probally drinkinī coffee and smoking big cigarrs.
Well I know I had it coming, I know I canīt be free
but those people keep a movinī
and thatīs what torture means...
Well if theyīd free me from this prison,
if that railroad train was mine
I bet Iīd move just a little further down the line
far from Folsom prison is where I long to stay
and Iīd let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away
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