Here's a tale of Tom,
Who worked the river's run.
His wife would cook his meat,
But he wouldn't care to eat.

Poor Tom,
Seventh son,
Always knew what's going on.

Ain't a thing that you can hide from Tom.
There ain't nothing that you can hide from Tom.

Worked for thirty years,
Sharing hopes and fears.
Dreaming of the day,
He could turn and say:

"Poor Tom,
Work's gone,
Lazing out in the noonday sun."

Ain't a thing that you can hide from Tom.
There ain't nothing that you can hide from Tom.

His wife was Ellie May,
One of many games she played.
When Tom was out of town,
She couldn't keep her dresses down.

Poor Tom,
Seventh son,
Always knew what's going on.

Ain't a thing that you can hide from Tom.
Ain't nothing that you can hide from Tom.

And so it was one day,
That Tom caught Ellie May.
Tom took a gun in his hand,
And stopped all the running around.

Poor Tom,
Seventh son,
Gotta die for what you've done.

All those years of work are thrown away.
To ease your mind is that all you can say?
But what about that grandson on your knee?
And railroad song is he could be.

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