BANJO JIM
Old Banjo Jim is the name of him
Of whom I have to write,
As he walks with his load, 'long a country road,
He is almost always tight;
Of whom I have to write,
As he walks with his load, 'long a country road,
He is almost always tight;
But wherever he goes, with his weal and woes
His banjo always shares,
'Tis as much a scrap of the poor old chap
As the battered hat he wears.
His banjo always shares,
'Tis as much a scrap of the poor old chap
As the battered hat he wears.
He is old and scarred, he is maimed and marred
And his banjo is the same,
'Tis a part of himself never laid on the shelf
And a part of his poor old name.
And his banjo is the same,
'Tis a part of himself never laid on the shelf
And a part of his poor old name.
He will curse and swear, 'till the very air
With his wicked words is blue,
Or sit on a pile of rails, with a smile,
And play a tune for you.
With his wicked words is blue,
Or sit on a pile of rails, with a smile,
And play a tune for you.
He is always tight, but don't take a fright
He's harmless, the neighbors say,
And when he swears, 'tis a part of his airs
As much as it is to play;
He's harmless, the neighbors say,
And when he swears, 'tis a part of his airs
As much as it is to play;
Still I pity him, poor Old Banjo Jim,
Whenever I see him go
With his rags and sin, with his tags and gin,
Holding tight to his old banjo.
Whenever I see him go
With his rags and sin, with his tags and gin,
Holding tight to his old banjo.
Of all beauty bereft, there must yet be left
In his hard old soul a string
That is plastic still, to feel and thrill
At the sound of a lovely thing.
In his hard old soul a string
That is plastic still, to feel and thrill
At the sound of a lovely thing.
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