Way down upon the Smalley River,
There's where my heart is
There's where the old folks stay.
All up and down the whole creation,
still longing for the old plantation
and for the old folks at home.
All the well and sad and weary,
Oh, dearies, how my heart grows weary,
Far from the old folks at home.
All round the little farm
I wandered when I was young.
Then many happy days I squandered,
When I was playing with my brother,
Oh, take me to my kind old mother.
There let me live and die.
All the world lands sad and dreary,
Oh, deary, how my heart grows weary,
Far from the old folks at home.
One little hut among the bushes,
Still, sadly, to my memory rushes,
When will I see the bees a -hum
When will I hear the banjo
All the world, and sad and dreary,
Oh, weary how my heart will be,