I was working for Union Pacific back then,
Uncle Irby wanted to go

By train to Oklahoma to see
His friends and brother, and so...

We boarded the UP and headed east,
He liked the ride toward Topeka,

Thru the Rockies we traveled on that yellow train,
To Kansas' heartland just to seek a

Seat on the Rock Island line, where we choked,
Nowhere to sit but the smoker...

Our destination, Chickasha,
Yes, really, I'm no joker...

That's getting ahead of my story, I guess,
Crossing coal-mining country we stopped,

Took baggage, passengers, even mail on,
And no doubt some riders we dropped...

My uncle was rather hard of hearing,
And before we got moving I heard this,

Irby said, in a rather loud voice,
"I wonder what the name of this burg is,"

I wasn't surprised that he said it, of course,
It was just a folksy expression,

In a second or two it became obvious
It had given a callous impression...

I realized how it seemed at the time,
Like a pigeon, I felt just like homing,

As fifteen people who'd just gotten on
Chorused, "Green River, Wyoming!"

by D. Edgar Murray