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Old Folks at Home
Way down upon the Swanee River, far, far away
That's where my heart is turning ever, there's where the old folks stay
All up and down the whole creation, sadly I roam
Still longing for the old plantation, and for the old folks at
All the world is sad and weary, every where I roam;
Oh people, how my heart grows weary, far from the old folks at
All 'round the little farm I wandered, when I was young
There many happy days I squandered, many the song I sung
When I was playing with my brother, happy was I
Oh, take me to my kind old mother, there let me live and die
One little hut among the bushes, one that I love
Still sadly to my memory rushes, no matter where I rove
When will I see the bees a-humming all 'round the comb?
When will I hear the banjo strumming, down in my good old home?