Texty: Johnny Cash. American V: A Hundred Highways. Like The 309.

It should be a while before I see doctor Death
So, it would sure would be nice if I could get my breath
Well, I'm not the cryin', nor the whinin' kind
'til I hear the whistle of the 309, of the 309, of the 309
Put me in my box on the 309

Take me to the depot, put me to bed
Blow an electric fan on my gnarly ol' head
Everybody take a look, see, I'm doin' fine
Then load my box on the 309
On the 309, on the 309
Put me in my box on the 309

Hey, sweet baby, kiss me hard
Draw my bath water, sweep my yard
Give a drink of my wine to my jersey cow
I wouldn't give a hoot-and-nail for my journey now
On the 309, on the 309

I hear the sound of a railroad train
The whistle blows and I'm gone again
Hitman, take me higher than a Georgia pine
Stand back children, it's the 309
It's the 309, it's the 309
Put me in my box on the 309

A chicken in the pot and turkey in the corn
Ain't felt this good since Jubilee morn'
Talk about luck, well, I got mine
Asthma comin' down like the 309
*haaaaaaaa.....*

Write me a letter, sing me a song
Tell me all about it, what I did wrong
Meanwhile, I will be doin' fine
Then load my box on the 309
On the 309, on the 309
Gonna get outta here on the 309

(Thanks to Matt for these lyrics)