  W'en ole Mister Sun gits tiah'd a-hangin' High up in de sky; W'en der ain't no thunder and light'nin' a-bangin', An' de crap's done all laid by; W'en yo' bones ain't achin' wid de rheumatics, Den yo' ride de mule to town, Git a great big jug o' de ole corn juice, An' w'en you drink her down— Jes lay away ole Trouble, An' dry up all yo' tears; Yo' pleasure sho' to double An' you bound to lose yo' keers. Jes lay away ole Sorrer High upon de shelf; And never mind to-morrer, 'Twill take care of itself. W'en ole Mister Age begins a-stealin' Thoo yo' back an' knees, W'en yo' bones an' jints lose der limber feelin', An' am stiff'nin' by degrees; Now der's jes one way to feel young and spry, W'en you heah dem banjos soun' Git a great big swig o' de ole corn juice, An' w'en you drink her down— Jes lay away ole Trouble, An' dry up all yo' tears; Yo' pleasure sho' to double An' you bound to lose yo' keers. Jes lay away ole Sorrer High upon de shelf; And never mind to-morrer, 'Twill take care of itself. |
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