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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