A Plantation Bacchanal

W'en ole Mister Sun gits tiah'd a-hangin'

High up in de sky;

W'en de rain am a-fallin' an' de thunder am a-bangin',

An' de crap's done all laid by;

W'en yo' bones growin' chilly 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 up on de shelf;

And never mind tomorrer,

'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 up on de shelf;

And never mind tomorrer,

'Twill take care of itself.

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