Nothing To Do But Go

Return to Inmates One day William Duffy brought home a poem that he had found on the wall of an empty cell in the prison. It obviously was written by one of the prisoners. I liked the poem and memorized it. It is typical of the philosophy of the American drifter or nomad, often referred to as the hobo or bundle stiff. This is the poem: I'm a rambling son, with the nervous feet, That never was made for a steady beat. I've had many a job for a little while I've been on the bum and I've lived in style But there was the road winding mile upon mile And Nothing to do But Go!   So beat it Bo, while the walkin's good While the birds in the trees are sawin' wood Oh, the little red fire and the pipe at night And off again, in the morning bright, With nothing but road and sky in sight And Nothing to do But Go. So beat it, Bo, while your feet are mates Take a look at these whole United States If today ain't the finest for you and me, There's always tomorrow that's going to be, And the day after that, that's coming, see, And Nothing to do But Go' So beat it, Bo, while you're young and strong See all you can, for you won't last long. We may stop for only a little spell, On this long grey road to Fair Ye Well, That leads to Heaven, or maybe Hell, And Nothing to do But Go. Author: William J. Duffy, Jr. Return to Inmates Last Revision March 2001