OLD FOLKS AT HOME

by Stephen Foster



Way down upon the Swanee River, far, far away

That's where my heart is turning ever

That'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 home



All the world is sad and dreary everywhere I roam

Oh darkies, how my heart grows weary

Far from the old folks at home



All 'round the little farm I wandered, when I was young

Then many happy days I squandered, many the songs 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 mem'ry rushes, no matter where I rove

When shall I see the bees a humming, all 'round the comb

When shall I hear the banjo strumming, down by my good old home



@America @South

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SF

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