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," 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.      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.