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BLUE GRASS BALLADS 51
That little crick has gone plum' dry, the mill is
all to' down, An' blamed ef they ain't tuck the spot to build
er onry town, An' where the big-road useter run thar's growin'
weeds an' grass, An' thar's a cut, clean thro' the hill, fur railroad
kyars to pass.
Them shell-bark hick'ry trees is gone, whar me
an' yo' Aunt Sue, Has gather'd nuts, so many falls, when we was
size er you; An' over yan, whar houses stan' along the south
hill side, Thar stood the woods, an' pawpaws growed an'
possums useter hide.
The boys as useter play with me, when I was but
a kid, Has all turned gray—'cep' them that's bald—
an' some the ground has hid; An' stid er jeans, an' home'ade socks, an' all the
like er that, Sto' close is all the go, mer son, them an' the—