The Broken-Stringed Banjo that Hangs on the Wall.
There it hangs in the corner, the last nail on the wall,
The broken-stringed banjo idolized by us all;
Tho' faded and useless it now may appear,
Still in fond memory 'tis held ever dear;
Reminding us of one who has now passed away,
Dear, darling grandpa, so merry, light and gay;
And tho' left all alone, 'tis cherished by us all,
The broken-stringed banjo that hangs on the wall
As he'd sit by the door the banjo he'd bang,
Awakening the plantation with his twang, twang, twang;
Many happy hours our spirits he'd enthrall,
With the broken-stringed banjo that hangs on the wall.
If that banjo could speak, it would call for the hand
That woke it to life in a sunny Southern land;
It would tell of the songs of old it used to play
At eve, when the darkies quit work for the day.
It sang the praise of Dixie and good old Tennessee,
It taught the colored people that yet they would be free;
But the hand that woke its echoes is gone past recall,
The broken-stringed banjo that hangs on the wall. -Chorus.