The full tale
At the station a locomotive's dripping with sweat, It's heavy and huge, and its whole body's wet With thick, greasy oil. It stands there and huffs, and it gasps for more air, And heat from its belly bursts out everywhere:
Whoosh—it's so hot! Ugh—it's so hot! Puff—it's so hot! Phew—it's so hot!
It can hardly keep puffing, its breath's growing thin, And still the stoker keeps shoveling coal in. They've coupled the cars on, a long heavy chain Of iron and steel—what a load for a train! And every car's crowded with people inside, In one there are cows, in the next, horses ride, In the third sit the chubbiest fellows around, All munching fat sausages, pound after pound, The fourth car's bananas, piled row upon row, The fifth, six grand pianos, all ready to go, In the sixth is a cannon—oh my, what a size! There's an iron beam under each wheel where it lies! The seventh has oak tables and wardrobes to spare, The eighth, two giraffes, an elephant, a bear, In the ninth, only pigs, every one of them fat, In the tenth, trunks and boxes and crates, this and that.
And of cars like these there are forty, I'd say, I don't even know what else is stowed away. But if a thousand strongmen came along, And each ate a thousand cutlets to grow strong, And each of them strained till his muscles were sore, They still couldn't lift it an inch off the floor.
Suddenly—toot! Suddenly—hoot! Steam—blow! Wheels—go!
First—slowly—like a turtle—so heavy—so slow— The engine—along the rails—begins—to go, It jerks at the cars, and it hauls with a strain, And round go the wheels, and around, and again, And faster, and faster, and faster it goes, It rumbles, it rattles, it thunders, it blows, But where to? But where to? But where to? Straight on! Down the track, down the track, over the bridge, and it's gone Through mountains, through tunnels, through fields, through the wood, It's rushing to get there on time, as it should, In rhythm it rattles and taps, and it knocks on the track: Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack. It rolls on so smoothly—how light it must feel! Like a little rubber ball, not a train made of steel, Not a heavy machine, out of breath, hot and wheezy, But a plaything, a tin toy, so light and so easy!
But where does it come from, and how does it go, And what is it, what is it, who pushes it so, That it races, and pounds, and it chuffs—chuff, chuff, chuff? It's hot steam that moves it—hot steam, sure enough! Hot steam from the boiler, through pipes, takes a ride To the pistons, which push on the wheels from each side, They drive, and they push, and the train's on its way, For the steam pushes pistons all night and all day, And the wheels rattle on, and they tap on the track: Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack!…