OLD FOLKS AT HOMEby Stephen FosterWay down upon the Swanee River, far, far awayThat's where my heart is turning everThat's where the old folks stayAll up and down the whole creation, sadly I roamStill longing for the old plantationAnd for the old folks at homeAll the world is sad and dreary everywhere I roamOh darkies, how my heart grows wearyFar from the old folks at homeAll 'round the little farm I wandered, when I was youngThen many happy days I squandered, many the songs I sungWhen I was playing with my brother, happy was IOh, take me to my kind old mother, there let me live and dieOne little hut among the bushes, one that I loveStill sadly to my mem'ry rushes, no matter where I roveWhen shall I see the bees a humming, all 'round the combWhen shall I hear the banjo strumming, down by my good old home