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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 were 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 home.


All the world is sad and weary, every where I roam;
Oh people, how my heart grows weary, far from the old folks at home.

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?


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