Way down upon the Suwannee River far, far away.
There's where my heart is turning ever.
There's where the old folks stay.
All up and down the whole creation, sadly I roam.
Still longing for my childhood station
and for the old folks at home.

All 'round the little farm I wandered when I was young.
Then many happy days I squandered,
many the songs I sung.
When I was playing with my brother, happy was I.
Oh take me to my kind old mother.
There let me live and die.

One little hut among the bushes, one that I love,
still sadly to my memory rushes
no matter where I rove.
When will I see the bees a-humming all 'round the comb?
When shall I hear the banjo strumming
down in my good old home?