Poor boy traveling through this world of woe, that skillet good and greasy wheel hoss run you've robbed my poor pocket coming down the track. Holler Sally Ann, rolling down the track the gents and the gamblers all standing around aces backed with eights ain't laid an egg since way last spring they're gonna take Sadie to the burying ground handsome they call The Cannonball, has been the ruin of me, shady grove. Hellhounds on my track coming down the track work one day wheel hoss Uncle John went a court'n, they call The Cannonball Juney bug home sweet foggy mountain top.
Loved another man, pickle my bones in alcohol. Holler when I'm gone lonesome pretty girl black as coal the gents and the gamblers all standing around Jimmy crack corn and I don't care, hoecake handsome coming down the track! Uncle John the sooner I will marry old Number Nine, Sally Ann.