Nine hundred miles

I'm riding on this train there are tears in my eyes, try'n' to read a letter from my home.

If that train runs me right I’ll be home Saturday night, for I'm nine 100 miles from my home.

and I hate to hear that lonesome whistle blow, long long the train that's whistling down.

W ell the train I ride on is a hundred coaches long, you can hear the whistle blow a 100 miles.

If that train runs me right I’ll be home Saturday night, for I'm nine 100 miles from my home.

and I hate to hear that lonesome whistle blow, long long the train that's whistling down.

Upon me my watch upon me my train, upon me my golden garden rain.

The train I ride on is a 100 coaches long, for I'm nine hundred miles from my home.

And I hate to hear that lonesome whistle blow, long long the train that's whistling down.

Dm      Dm         A7            Dm            Bb           Gm            Dm          Dm

D7       G9           C7/6         Bb            Dm           A7            Dm           Dm

A7       A7            Dm          Dm            A7            A7            Dm           Dm