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Oh, I hope I go Away
By W. J. Goeffrey

By the old decrepit railroad, lookin' longin' toward the sea, 
There's a flyin' field a settin', where I know I shouldn't be. 
For the wind is from the Northward and its murmur seems to say, 
"Come you back into the homeland, pack your bag and come today."
 Pack your bag and come today
 To your home so far away, 
 Where there ain't no regulations, 'bout the way you work or play.
 Oh, I hope that I don't stay, 
 Where the creepin' lizards play, 
 An' the horned toads box mosquitoes, just to pass the time away. 

Its general tone is whitish, and where there's weeds it's green, 
But its style of architecture leaves a pain inside my bean. 
I saw her first a quiverin' and a gaspin' in the heat, 
An' the dust was twistin' upwards to the old propeller's beat. 
 Bloomin' old propeller's beat, 
 With the engine runnin' sweet; 
 Plucky lot I care for Texas, when I'm in the pilot's seat. 
 Oh, I hope that I don't stay, 
 Where the creepin' lizards play, 
 An' the horned toads box mosquitoes, just to pass the time away. 

When the mist is on the rice fields and the sun is comin' up,
An' I hear the bloomin' bugler blattin', "Come on, boys, git up!"
With my right shoe on my left foot, hidin' yawns behind my hand
An' a skeeter buzzin' round me, I can cuss to beat the band. 
 Sure can cuss to beat the band, 
 'Bout this everlastin' land, 
 Where even beer is camouflaged, and cows' good milk is canned. 
 Oh, I hope that I don't stay, 
 Where the creepin' lizards play, 
 An' the horned toads box mosquitoes, just to pass the time away. 

But my work is still before me, and my friends are far away, 
An' there ain't no trains a runnin' from the field toward home today, 
An' I'm learnin' here, near Houston, what the Wandering Willies tell. 
If you've heard the north a callin' why Texas seems like Hell. 
 Yes, sir, Texas seems like Hell, 
 With that spicy mess-hall smell, 
 An' the sunshine on the shell roads makes me want to rave and yell. 
 Oh, I hope that I don't stay, 
 Where the creepin' lizards play, 
 An' the horned toads box mosquitoes, just to pass the time away. 

Oh, I'm sick o' wakin' mornin's to the tune of snores and groans, 
An' the blasted southern dampness wakes the fever in my bones. 
Though I has the best of quarters outa what the field can give,
I would give them up right gladly just to go up north to live. 
 Crowded bunks an' grub, and-
 Law, what's the use? You understand; 
 I've a neater, sweeter hearthstone in a cleaner, greener land. 
 Oh, I hope that I don't stay, 
 Where the creepin' lizards play. 
 An' the horned toads box mosquitoes, just to pass the time away. 
(From the Ellington Field Book, 1918)