Nobody Knows
By EDWARD CONNOR.
Oh, nobody knows where the hobo goes,
Nobody knows, nobody knows;
Nobody knows where the hobo goes,
That’s the way the old song goes.
Boom a little saxophone, rap the little drums,
Make a little music for the doggone bums,
And we'll sing a little ditty till the old freight comes,
Then we’re going where nobody knows.
There's nobody knows where the hobo goes
When the sun shines warm and jungles call,
Oh, nobody knows where the old bo goes
When the long straw's yellow in the fall.
Old cars a-coughin' up the old Soo line,
Hoosier's surely makin' that old separator whine,
Pitchin' in the field is where the old boes shine;
Oh, nobody knows where the old bo goes
When the long straw's yellow in the fall.
And nobody knows where the young bo goes
When the cold north wind
Starts to whistle through his clothes;
Oh, nobody knows where the young bo goes
When the snowballs rattle on his spine.
Turp' camp down in Gawgia,
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