| G | C | |
| Out from the wide Pacific to the | broad Atlantic shore |
| D | G | |
| She clim | bs the flowery mountains, over hills and by the shor | e |
| C | |
| Although she's tall and handsome and she's known quite well by all |
| D | G | |
| She's a regular | combination, the Wabash Cannonball. |
| Chorus: |
| G | C | |
| Oh, listen to the jingle, the rumble and the | roar |
| D | G | |
| As she glid | es along the woodland, over hills and by the shor | e |
| C | |
| She climbs the flowery mountains, hear the merry hobo squall |
| D | G | |
| As she glid | es along the woodland, the Wabash Cannonball. |
| Oh the Eastern states are dandy, so the Western people say |
| Chicago, Rock Island, St. Louis by the way |
| To the lakes of Minnesota where the rippling waters fall |
| No chances to be taken on the Wabash Cannonball. |
| Chorus |
| I have rode the I.C. Limited, also the Royal Blue |
| Across the Eastern counties on Elkhorn Number Two |
| I have rode these highball trains from coast to coast that's all |
| But I have found no equal to the Wabash Cannonball. |
| Chorus |
| Oh, here's old daddy Cleaton, let his name forever be |
| And long be remembered in the courts of Tennessee |
| For he is a good old rounder 'til the curtain round him fall |
| He'll be carried back to victory on the Wabash Cannonball. |
| Chorus |