Ol' morning crimson dawn
...there's a creek now on the floor
Do the paupers sleep tonight?
Do the children read or write?

There's a pot a brewin'
A beat-up cup for fillin'
Now the paper is saying that are polls are shifting

Our train's ahead
and its patrons have been so mislead
Judges play gypsy roles
cherry pickin' while the gentleman falls

Aching prophets scurry south
Tangled up in all their vows
They can hear us from the street

It's a shame we can't retreat

You see the road is seasoned
with the bows of treason
Painted wagons are gleamin'
while the dust is settling

Our train's ahead
and its patrons have been so mislead
Judges play gypsy roles
cherry pickin' while the gentleman falls

There's a pot a brewin!