| See the man on the black top highway
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| Moving to no man’s land
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| All alone on the black top highway
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| Moving just as fast as he can
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| Ridin' thumb, ridin' thumb
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| Left his home down in Macon, Georgia
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| Left the shade of an old oak tree, tree
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| Got his dreams in his left front pocket
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| Got his eyes squinted towards the sea
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| Ridin' thumb, ridin' thumb
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| He don’t care where the wind blows
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| Just as long as he gets his ride
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| And he don’t care for food and water
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| Just lets his conscience be his guide
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| Ridin' thumb
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| Left his sisters and mama crying
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| Beggin him not to leave that day
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| Said he’d write but they knew he was lying
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| Got no razor, got no blade
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| Ridin' thumb, ridin' thumb |