| If you will listen, a song I will sing
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| About my daddy who drove a log train
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| Way down in the southland, in old Alabama
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| We lived in a place that they call Chapmantown
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| And late in the evening, when the sun was low
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| Way off in the distance you could hear the train blow
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| The folks would come runnin', and Moma would say
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| «Get the supper on the table, here comes the log train»
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| Every mornin', at the break of day
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| He’d grab his lunchbucket, and be on his way
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| Winter or summer, sunshine or rain
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| Every mornin', he’d run that ole log train
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| A sweatin' an swearin' all day long
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| Shoutin', «Get up there oxen, keep movin' along
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| Load her up boys, 'cause it looks like rain
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| I’ve gotta get rollin', this ole log train»
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| This story happened, a long time ago
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| The log train is silent, God called Dad to go
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| But when I get to Heaven, ta always remain
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| I’ll listen to the whistle of the ole log train |