The Hoboes’ Convention
By George Liebst
You have heard of big conventions,
And there’s some you can’t forget,
But get this straight, there’s none so great
As when the hoboes met.
To Portland, Oregon, last year
They came from near and far;
On “tops” and “blind” where cinders whined,
They rode on every car.
Three hundred came from New York state,
Some came from Eagle Pass;
That afternoon, the third of June,
They gathered there en masse.
From Lone Star state came “Texas Slim”
And “Jack the Katydid”;
With “Lonesome Lou” from Kal’mazoo
Came “San Diego Kid.”
And “Denver Dan” and “Boston Red”
Blew in with “Hell-fire Jack,”
“Andy Lang” from lakeshore gang,
“Big Mac” from Mackinack.
I saw some boys I’d never met;
A bo called “New York Spike,”
“Con, the Sneak,” from Battle Creek,
And “Mississippi Ike.”
Old “New York Bill,” dressed like a duke,
Shook hands with “Frisco Fred”;
And “Half-breed Joe” from Mexico
Shot craps with “Eastport Ed.”
“St. Louis Jim” and “Pittsburg Paul”
Fixed up a jungle stew,
While “Slipp’ry Slim” and “Bashful Tim”
Croaked gumps for our menu.
The “Jockey Kid” spilled out a song
Along with “Desp’rate Sam”;
And “Paul the Shark” from Terrors’ Park
Clog-danced with “Alabam.”
We gathered ’round the jungle fire,
The night was passing fast;
We’d all done time for every crime,
And talk was of the past.
All night we flopped around the fire
Until the morning sun;
Then from the town the cops came down—
We beat it on the run.
We scattered to the railroad yards,
And left the “bulls” behind;
Some hit the freights for other states,
And many rode the “blind.”
Well, here I am in Denver town,
A hungry, tired-out bo;
The flier’s due, when she pulls through,
I’ll grab her and I’ll blow.
That’s her—she’s whistling for the block—
I’ll make her on the fly;
It’s number nine—Santa Fe line,
I’m off again—Good Bye!
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