Here's a tale of Tom 
Who worked the railroads long
His wife would cook his meal
As he would change the wheel

Poor Tom, Seventh Son, Always knew what's goin 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 
Dreamin' of the day 
He could turn and say 

Poor Tom, work's done, been lazin' out in the noonday sun 

Ain't a thing that you can hide from Tom 

His wife was Annie Mae 
With any man a game she'd play
When Tom was out of town 
She couldn't keep her dress down 

Poor Tom, Seventh Son, always knew what's goin on 

Ain't a thing that you can hide from Tom 

And so it was one day 
People got to Annie Mae (?) 
Tom stood, a gun in his hand 
And stopped [bad word]  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? 
Them railroad songs, Tom would sing to me

Ain't nothing that you can hide from Tom 

Keep-a [bad word] 
Keep-a [bad word]