THE OLD BAND

It's mighty good to git back to the old town, shore,

Considerin’ I've be'n away twenty year and more.

Sence I moved then to Kansas, of course I see a change,

A-comin’ back, and notice things that's new to me and strange;

Especially at evening when yer new band-fellers meet,

In fancy uniforms and all, and play out on the street —

... What's come of old Bill Lindsey and the Saxhorn fellers — say?

I want to hear the old band play.

What's come of Eastman, and Nat Snow? And where's War Barnett at?

And Nate and Bony Meek; Bill Hart; Tom Richa'son and that-

Air brother of him played the drum as twic't as big as Jim;

And old Hi Kerns, the carpenter — say, what's become o’ him?

I make no doubt yer new band now's a competenter band,

And plays their music more by note than what they play by hand,

And stylisher and grander tunes; but somehow — anyway,

I want to hear the old band play.

Sich tunes as “John Brown's Body” and “Sweet Alice,” do n't you know;

And “The Camels is A-comin’,” and “John Anderson, my Jo”;

And a dozent others of‘ em — “Number Nine” and “Number‘ Leven”

Was favo-rites that fairly made a feller dream o’ Heaven.

And when the boys‘ u'd saranade, I've laid so still in bed

I've even heerd the locus’ - blossoms droppin’ on the shed

When “Lilly Dale,” er “Hazel Dell,” had sobbed and died away —

... I want to hear the old band play.

Yer new band ma'by beats it, but the old band's what I said —

It allus‘ peared to kind o’ chord with somepin’ in my head;

And, whilse I'm no musicianer, when my blame’ eyes is jes’

Nigh drownded out, and Mem'ry squares her jaws and sort o’ says

She wo n't ner never will fergit, I want to jes’ turn in

And take and light right out o’ here and git back West ag'in

And stay there, when I git there, where I never haf to say

I want to hear the old band play.