I'm out here a thousand miles from my home,
Walking a road other men have gone down.
I'm seeing your world of people and things,
Your paupers and peasants and princes and kings.
Hey, hey, Woody Guthrie, I wrote you a song
'Bout a funny, old world that's coming along.
Seems sick and it's hungry, it's tired and it's torn.
It looks like it's dying and it's hardly been born.
Hey, Woody Guthrie, but I know that you know
All the things that I'm saying and many times more.
I'm singing you the song, but I can't sing enough
'Cause there's not many men that done the things that you've done.
Here's to Cisco, and Sonny, and Leadbelly too,
And to all the good people that traveled with you.
Here's to the hearts and the hands of the men
That come with the dust and are gone with the wind.
I'm leaving tomorrow, but I could leave today.
Somewhere down the road some day,
The very last thing that I'd want to do
Is to say I've been hitting some hard traveling too.