Phil Ochs checked into the Chelsea Hotel,
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There was blood on his clothes and they were dirty.
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I could see by his face he was not feeling well,
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He'd been to one too many parties.
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He walked in the lobby a picture of doom,
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It was plain to see he'd been a-drinkin'
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I had to follow him up to his room,
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To find out what he was thinking
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"Train, Train, Train"
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From the outlaw in his brain
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But he's still the same refrain
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He walked in his room and he fell on the floor
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Hanging in his hangover
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Now the act from the stage he plays on the street
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Handing out piles of money
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His audience now is the bums that he meets
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Is he a phony or funny?
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-----------------
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The Ballad of John Train
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| Phil Ochs |
