The Ballad of Russo de Loco

The Ballad of Russo deLoco
(To the tune of Ballad of Davey Crockett)

Born with the railroad tracks near his backyard,
No one really knew that he’d grow up a re ‘tard,
Russo’s life revolves around the choo choo trains
His grade school teacher said, “the boy aint got no brains”!

Got his first camera, when he was only three
A Kodak Instamatic, by gol-ly!
Takin hunnerds o pictures that all look the same,
Can it actually be, this boy is really lame!

Chorus:
Russo, Russo de Loco
King of our foamite friends!

Over in Durango, his wish come true
He began to foam so hard, that his food could not be chewed,
He chased it up and down the canyon till he saw the train no more,
Drove to Silver-town, but forgot what for!

Well Hiway five-five-oh is not a chaser’s delight,
With Mounties drivng Crown Vic’s all painted in white
While pacing near Hermosa they were thick as fleas
And it was off to the pokey for driving with his knees.

In 1970 on a trip he took
What was left in Chama land was really worth a look
There on the head end sat the four-eighty-three
In black, brown, red and gold, and lettered for C&T.

40 years later, ol Russo makes a scene
Wanting boiler jackets, to be painted green,
The ’89 is running and it has some history,
Of running a green boiler, with foamers like you and me!

Chorus:

Well the C & T is still short on power,
The '83 is doomed and its nearing the final hour,
Russo coughed up some dough, so he could get her hot again,
Cuz she was the first to pop his cherry, way back when!



The reports from Ol’ John Bush said its boiler was shot,
And the running gear is wasted, but not all was lost
We’ll rattle can ’87 and number it four eighty three
And nobody will know, except for you and me.


Chorus:


Fast forward to this day, and the anniversary
Of Russo’s favorite choo-choo with his extended family
May it live on forever, even if only in our dreams
Along with Thomas the Tank Engine and other nightmarish screams.

Ol Russo has foamed this land over far and wide,
From the mountains to the deserts and tide to tide,
In the words of St. Vincent Milay, he bellows out a moan,
There isn’t a train I wouldn’t take, no matter where its goin!

Russo, Russo deLoco
King of our Foamite Friends!