  ——— Sittin’ by de windo’, Gazin’ at de snow, Up here in de Norf land, No friends dat I know. Lord, if I was dare! Peaceful, happy Georgia, Tired of de rip an’ tare, Sick ob ways o’ city. No one hear to talk to, ’Bout de joy I’s seen, Speak ob possum huntin’— Don’ no what yo’ mean. Banjo lyin’ idle, Not allow’d to play, People in de nex’ room, Too much noise, da’ say. Write hum’ fo’ a ticket? Dat ’ould be no use, Sent me one las’ summer, Sole’ it like a goose. Way too long fo’ walkin’, Snow a fallin’, too, Lord a mercy on me, Wh’t am I to do? Com’ hear little banjo, Lie close to my ear, I’ll jus’ pic’ yo’ easy, So dem fools can’ hear. What! you say der postman, Letter he’r fo’ me, No, I jus’ can’ b’leve it, Han’ me; let me see. Yes dis is her writin’, Ticket too hav’ com’, Com’ on little banjo, Com’, I’m goin’ hom’. |
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