| Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay
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| Gone are the toils of the cotton fields away
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| Gone to the fields of a better land I know
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| I hear those gentle voices calling, «Old Black Joe»
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| I’m coming, I’m coming
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| For my head is bending low
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| I hear those gentle voices calling, «Old Black Joe»
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| I’m coming home (I'm coming home)
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| I’m coming home (I'm coming home)
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| Oh-oh my head is bending low
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| I hear those gentle voices calling, «Old Black Joe»
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| Old Black Joe, Old Black Joe, Old Black Joe
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| Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain?
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| Why do I sigh that my friends come not again?
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| Grieving for forms now departed long ago
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| I hear their gentle voice calling, «Old Black Joe»
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| Where are the hearts once so happy and free?
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| The children so dear that I held upon my knee?
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| Gone to the shore where my soul has long’d to go
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| I hear their gentle voice calling, «Old Black Joe» |