Stephen Foster - Old black joe

^CGone are the days When my ^Fheart was young and ^Cgay

Of the ^Dmcotton fields a^Gway ^CGone to the fields Of a ^Fbetter land, I ^Cknow I ^Ghear those gentle ^Cvoices ^Fcallin' me ^COld ^GBlack ^CJoe

Though my ^Fhead is bendin' ^Clow I ^Ghear those gentle ^Cvoices ^Fcallin' me ^COld ^GBlack ^CJoe

^CWhy do I weep, when my ^Fheart should feel no ^Cpain, Why do I sigh that my ^Dmfriends come not a^Ggain? ^CGrieving for forms now de^Fparted long a^Cgo. I ^Ghear their gentle ^Cvoices ^Fcalling ^COld ^GBlack ^CJoe.

Though my ^Fhead is bendin' ^Clow I ^Ghear those gentle ^Cvoices ^Fcallin' me ^COld ^GBlack ^CJoe

^CWhere are the hearts once so ^Fhappy and so ^Cfree? The children so dear that I ^Dmheld upon my ^Gknee? ^CGone to the shore where my ^Fsoul has longed to ^Cgo, I ^Ghear their gentle ^Cvoices ^Fcalling ^COld ^GBlack ^CJoe. I'm comin', I'm comin' Though my ^Fhead is bendin' ^Clow I ^Ghear those gentle ^Cvoices ^Fcallin' me ^COld ^GBlack ^CJoe