| Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay
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| Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away
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| Gone from the earth to a better land I know
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| I hear their gentle voices calling «Old Black Joe.»
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| I’m coming, I’m coming, for my head is bending low
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| I hear their gentle voices calling «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 voices calling «Old Black Joe.»
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| I’m coming, I’m coming, for my head is bending low
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| I hear their gentle voices calling «Old Black Joe.»
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| Where are the hearts once so happy and so 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 longed to go
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| I hear their gentle voices calling «Old Black Joe.»
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| I’m coming, I’m coming, for my head is bending low
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| I hear their gentle voices calling «Old Black Joe.» |