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BLUE GRASS BALLADS |
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The stillicide of honey-bees;
The grateful scent of od'rous trees ;
The balmy, perfume-laden breeze
Of that dear sunny clime, And all the happiness and glee Are borne on memory's wing to me, At home beside this western sea,
Of Christmas in the ole time.
Christmas eve—the old plantation— See the quarters blaze with light;
Hear the fiddle, bones and banjo; People there are gay tonight.
Listen to the leader sing:
" Jine de song, you sassy niggahs !" Hear the hearty chorus ring:
" Dat's all right, you call de figgahs !"
Dar's ole Marster, good en true;
Ah ha, oo hoo! Ole Mistiss, she is dat way, too;
Ah ha, oo hoo! Young Mars Jim en sweet Miss Sue —
Ah ha, oo hoo! Lawd bless all ole Marster's crew;
Ah ha, oo hoo! |
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