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Old Folks at Home by Stephen C. Foster
Way down upon the Swannee 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! darkeys how my heart grows weary,
Far from de old folks at home.
All around de little farm I wandered when I was young,
Den many happy days I squandered, 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 live and die
One little hut among de bushes, one dat I love,
Still sadly to my mem'ry rushes, no matter where I rove,
When will I see de bees a hummin' all round de comb?
When will I hear de banjo tumming, down in my good old home? (Chorus)
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