Dedicated to Engineer John Hoolihan, Pittsburg and Lake Erie Railroad, Pittsburg, Pa.  
      WALL, John, I read your poetry,
          And laughed till I nearly cried,
      Seein' how you became an engineer,
          And got on the right hand side.
      It made me think of the days gone by,
          When I wuz one of you fellers, too,
      What used to run an old machine,
          And go tootin' the country through.
      But the engine that I had then, John,
          Wuz far from a "Nancy Hanks;"
      She wuz old and worn and loggy,
          And jist chuck full of pranks¹;
      And she wuz wonderfully got up, John,
          Full of bolts and valves and knobs,
      And the boiler² wouldn't hold water;
          Gosh, it wouldn't hold cobs.
 
      But I wuz younger then, John,
          And I didn't care a cuss;
      So I'd pull the throttle³ open
          And jist let her wheeze⁴ and fuss.
      The road that I wuz a-runnin' on
          Wuz out in the woolly west;
      Two streaks⁵ of rust⁶ and the right of way
          Wuz puttin' it at its best.
      So we sort of plugged along, John.
          And didn't put on any frills,
      Never thought of doin' anything
          But doublin' all the hills.
      I tell you those were rocky times,
          And we hadn't no air brake;
      And fifteen miles an hour, John,
          Wuz durn good time to make.
 
      And thar wuz as good a lot of boys
          As you could meet with anywhere;
      Rough and ready open up,
          And always on the square.
      And I'd like to see them all again,
          And grasp each honest hand;
      But some of them, like me, have quit,

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