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HILL-BILLY, by                    
First Line: The white mists of mornin'
Last Line: Let it lead where it will!


The white mists of mornin'
Creep down the blue glen;
I dast not look 'round
Lest I turn back again.

There's kindlin' to split,
There's taters to hoe,
But wide places are callin'!
Maw, I just gotta go!

There's smoke from the shanty
I know you're about;
Paw'll still be a snorin',
His jug near, no doubt.

It hurt not to tell you, --
Paw'd rail at you so;
You can tell him in truth
That I snuck out to go.

Store shoes in my knap-sack
To wear into town;
My fiddle wrapped keerful --
It's all that I own.

There's furrows to turn,
There's goobers to sow,
But the wide places call me;
I just gotta go!

The finger o' mornin'
Points over the hill,
I must follow the pointin'
Let it lead where it will!





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