Slow rolling freight from the South Ogden yard
Easing along down the line,
The Pig Hollow jungle camp pulls into view,
You roll off and here's what you find,
The ruins and ashes lie scattered around,
The jungle is empty and bare,
The shanties and tents are all burned to the ground
Not a fire or a friend anywhere.
A rich man he lives in a house made of stone,
High on a hill looking down,
A poor man he lives in a tarpaper shack
Way out on the back side of town;
But a rich man don't worry about his fine house,
It's protected like you never saw,
While a poor man gets railroaded out by the cops
And his house gets burned down by the law.
A poor man is fighting for all that he has
He stands with his back to the wall;
A rich man he spends nearly half of his life
Just chasing a little white ball;
But a rich man he says that Pig Hollow must go
It's a place where the crooks rendezvous.
But don't you suppose if you burned down the bank
You might flush a scoundrel or two?
And don't you suppose if a bum with a torch
Set fire to some big fancy hall,
The cops'd come down like a blood-thirsty hound
And flat nail his hide to the wall?
It seems like the laws are all made for the rich.
They've got you boys, win, lose or draw;
Tray as you may to keep out of their way,
You just get burned out by the law.