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.
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