Way down upon the Swanee River, far, far away
That's where my heart is turning ever, there's where the old folks stay
All up and down the whole creation, sadly I roam
Still longing for the old plantation, and for the old folks at
home

All the world is sad and weary, every where I roam;
Oh people, how my heart grows weary, far from the old folks at
home

All 'round the little farm I wandered, when I was young
There many happy days I squandered, many the song I sung
When I was playing with my brother, happy was I
Oh, take me to my kind old mother, there let me live and die

One little hut among the bushes, one that I love
Still sadly to my memory rushes, no matter where I rove
When will I see the bees a-humming all 'round the comb?
When will I hear the banjo strumming, down in my good old home?