Lily pulled a horseshoe from a pile of junk
Said, "I'm gonna keep this good luck
Piece of iron inside my trunk"
The boy just whispered "OK"
And grabbed his old black dog
As we piled on in and cut out through
That late November fog

Dull as a ploughshare rusting in the yard
Old Cotton grinned and waved goodbye
While the auctioneers all played cards
On every other Sunday
I'd walk down to Moe's and back
Eat a t-bone steak, watch a picture show
For a dollar and a half

That fire came out of nowhere
Short of what I can tell
Hand to hand we passed that bucket
Up and down from the well
"Gone to California"
Used to be what folks would say
Down around these parts if it was me
I'd have hopped that westbound stage

One last hallelujah
A little less sympathy
Lily and Jake, the old black dog
A pinewood box, a rocking horse
All gone to Jubilee