I wanna go back to dixie, Take me back to dear ol' dixie, That's the only li'l ol' place for li'l ol' me. Ol' times there are not for-gotten, Whoppin' slaves and sellin' cotton, And waitin' for the robert E. Lee. spoken - (it was never there on time.) I'll go back to the swanee, Where pel-lagra makes you scrawny, And the jasmine and the tear gas spell just fine. I really am a-fixin' To go back where there's no mixin' Down below that mason-dixon line. Poll Tax. How I love ya, How I love ya. My Dear Ole Poll Tax (SPOKEN) Won'tcha come with me to alabammy, Back to the arms of my dear ol' mammy, Her cookin's lousy and her hands are clammy, But what the hell, it's home. SUNG - Yes, for paradise the southland is my nominee. Jes' give me a ham hock and a grit of hominy. I wanna start relaxin' Down in Birmingham or Jackson. And have some fun while no one interferes I wanna talk with southern gentlemen And put my white sheet on again, I ain't seen one good lynchin' in years. The land of the boll weevil, Where the laws are medieval, Is callin' me to come and nevermore roam. I wanna go back to the southland, That "y'all" and "shut-my-mouth" land, Be it e--ver so dec-a-dent, There's no place like home.
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