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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 memory rushes, no matter where I rove when shall I see the bees a humming, qall 'round the comb when shall I hear the banjo strumming, down by my good old home.

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10y ago

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