| I wanna go back to Dixie
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| Take me back to dear ol' Dixie
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| That’s the only li’l ol' place for li’l ol' me
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| Ol' times there are not forgotten
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| Whuppin' slaves and sellin' cotton
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| And waitin' for the Robert E. Lee
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| (It was never there on time)
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| I’ll go back to the Swanee
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| Where pellagra makes you scrawny
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| And the Honeysuckle clutters up the vine
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| I really am a-fixin'
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| To go home and start a-mixin'
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| Down below that Mason-Dixon line
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| Oh, poll tax, how I love ya, how I love ya
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| My dear old poll tax
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| Won’tcha come with me to Alabammy
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| Back to the arms of my dear ol' Mammy
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| Her cookin’s lousy and her hands are clammy
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| But what the hell, it’s home
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| Yes, for paradise the Southland is my nominee
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| Jes' give me a ham hock and a grit of hominy
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| I wanna go back to Dixie
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| I wanna be a dixie pixie
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| And eat cornpone 'til it’s comin' outta my ears
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| I wanna talk with Southern gentlemen
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| And put my white sheet on again
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| I ain’t seen one good lynchin' in years
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| The land of the boll weevil
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| Where the laws are medieval
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| Is callin' me to come and nevermore roam
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| I wanna go back to the Southland
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| That «y'all» and «shet-ma-mouth» land
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| Be it ever so decadent
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| There’s no place like home |