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I'm goin' home |
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Down there among the fields of cotton, |
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Down where the folks have not forgotten me |
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I feel blue just for a little girl I'm strong for, |
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Just for a certain one I long to see. |
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I'm goin' down aroun' my ALABAMY HOME |
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I'm gonna see the bee that makes the honey comb |
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The brindle cow will wag her tail, |
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As I fill up the pail I'll chase the flies and |
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I surmise she'll moo, "Thanks to you." |
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I'll feed the chicks, and mix some barley with their corn |
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They love it so, I know they'll cluck for luck each morn |
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Then I will lie amid the hay |
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And call it all a day |
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Way down aroun' my ALABAMY HOME. |
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I'm goin' down aroun' my ALABAMY HOME |
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I'm gonna see the bee that makes the honey comb |
|
The brindle cow will wag her tail, |
|
As I fill up the pail I'll chase the flies and |
|
I surmise she'll moo, "Thanks to you." |
|
I'll feed the chicks, and mix some barley with their corn |
|
They love it so, I know they'll cluck for luck each morn |
|
Then I will lie amid the hay |
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And call it all a day |
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Way down aroun' my ALABAMY HOME. |
