|Old Folks At Home S. Foster |
Way down upon de Swanee ribber,
Far far away,
Dere's wha my heart is turning ebber,
Dere's wha de old folks stay.
All up and down de whole creation,
Sadly I roam,
Still longing for de old plantation,
And for de old folks at home.
All de world am sad and dreary,
Ebry where I roam,
Oh mama how my heart grows weary,
Far from de old folks at home.
All round de little farm I wandered
When I was young
Den many happy days I squanders,
Many de songs I sung.
When I was playing wid my brudder
Happy was I
Oh take me to my kind old mudder,
Dere let me love and die.
One little hut among de bushes,
One dat I love,
Still sadly to my memry rushes,
No matter where I rove
When will I see de bees a humming
All round de comb?
When will I hear de banjo tumming
Down in my good old home?