I served my time, in the days gone by,In the railway's clash and clang,And I worked my way to the end, and IWas the head of the 'Flying Gang.''Twas a chosen band that was kept at handIn case of an urgent need,Was it south or north we were started forth,And away at our utmost speed.If word reached town that a bridge was down,The imperious summons rang—'Come out with the pilot engine sharp,And away with the flying gang.'
Then a piercing scream and a rush of steamAs the engine moved ahead,With a measured beat by the slum and streetOf the busy town we fled,By the uplands bright and the homesteads white,With the rush of the western gale,And the pilot swayed with the pace we madeAs she rocked on the ringing rail.And the country children clapped their handsAs the engine's echoes rang,But their elders said: 'There is work aheadWhen they send for the flying gang.'
Then across the miles of the saltbush plainThat gleamed with the morning dew,Where the grasses waved like the ripening grainThe pilot engine flew,A fiery rush in the open bushWhere the grade marks seemed to fly,And the order sped on the wires ahead,The pilot must go by.The Governor's special must stand aside,And the fast express go hang,Let your orders be that the line is freeFor the boys of the flying gang.