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.
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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," don'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.
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[Illustration: I want to hear the old band play]
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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 _won'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.
[Illustration: The old band--tailpiece]
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[Illustration: My friend--headpiece]