The third recording from the storyteller Boxcar Bertha. After thirty years riding the rails, she's no doubt has a lot of stories to tell, and when she wants to tell them in song, we'll record them! She now lives in a small efficiency apartment, and is trying to get used to it. We talked to her recently:
I'm lucky to be able to get off the road. Ridin' the rails isn't for old folks, and it's gettin' harder and harder to do. I did work off an on, one time at a two year stretch. Got pretty good pay, socked most of it away for my old age. Got a nice apartment, but I'm feeling hemmed in .When you're used to sleeping wherever you can lay your head, usually under the stars, having a comfortable bed should be a comfort. But there's most night I make a bedroll and go sleep outside. Put some of the other tenants in a dither when I started doing that. They thought I'd died out in the front yard! But they don't bother me any more. But I'm slowly gettin' used to a bed, spoiled, actually. Lots easier to get some rest for my old weary bones on a nice mattress than the hard ground!The word has gotten out to many of her hobo friends, as there's a constant stream of them coming to her apartment, most looking for a handout. She told us she had to finally cut off giving them anything, as she went through too much money. But there are some true friends that just want to visit.
Many years ago, there was a young man
A Bo on the rails since he was full growed
He had the fastest hands, ever alive
Light fingered Moses was his hobo name
His touch was so soft, his hands so nimble
He lived by takin’ things out of folk’s pockets
He wore a tattered hat, was his symbol
Moses was a veteran, of the rails
He sure didn’t look it, with his young face
He kept a small book of where he had been
Many an obscure, and familiar place
Light fingered Moses was his hobo name
His touch was so soft, his hands so nimble
He lived by takin’ things out of folk’s pockets
He wore a tattered hat, was his symbol
He’s go in a store, or gas station
Looked innocent casin’ out the store
He’d swipe stuff out of pockets, off the shelves
Cigarettes and candy, and so much more
Light fingered Moses was his hobo name
His touch was so soft, his hands so nimble
He lived by takin’ things out of folk’s pockets
He wore a tattered hat, was his symbol
Don’t know how he did it, but he sure could
Beat the alarm systems in the big stores
He’d look all around, and find some cool stuff
He’d stuff his pockets, and go out the doors
Light fingered Moses, no one ever caught
Didn’t matter if from a pocket or shelf
Always had something, in his coat to share
Thought about others just not ‘bout himself
He was a thief, but not from a Bo
Had some thought about things, and he took a stand
Hobos to him were like a family
He took things solely, only from the man!
Light fingered Moses, always was great fun
Could sing like a country western star
And he could really dance, just like a pro
Even could play, a little of guitar
Then on one sunny day, Sheriff came lookin’
Moses hid and thought he was a goner
Rest of us in camp, wondered what it was
Sheriff said it was a lawyer’s letter
Ended up that Moses didn’t know it
But he had rich relative that died
Named him in the unknown relatives will
Sure wasn’t no reason to run and hide!
Ended up ol’ Moses got some money
And he told me and all the other men
He’d see us soon, and pass some money out
But never saw his ragged ass again!
Haa Haa!!
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