Daddy, What's a train? Is it something I can ride? Does it carry lots of grown up folks and little kids inside Is it bigger than our house? - oh, how can I explain When my little boy asks me, "Daddy, what's a train?" I remember when I was a boy living by the track Us kids'd gather up the coal in a great big gunny sack And then we'd hear the warning sound as the train pulled into View And the engineer would smile and wave as she went rolling through She blew so loud and clear That we covered up our ears And counted cars as high as we could go I can almost hear the steam And the big old drivers scream With a sound my little boy will never know I guess the times have changed and kids are different now Some don't even seem to know that milk comes from a cow My little boy can tell the names of all the baseball stars And I remember how we memorized the names on railroad cars The Wabash and TP Lackawana and IC Nickel Plate and the good old Sante Fe Names out of the past And I know they're fading fast Everytime I hear my son look up and say Well, we climbed into the car and drove down into the town Right up to the depot house but no one was around We searched the yard together for something I could show But I knew there hadn't been a train for a dozen years or so All the things I did When I was just a kid How far away the memories appear And it's plain enough to see They mean a lot to me 'Cause my ambition was to be an engineer