By Bob Coltman
A poster’s peeling underneath last summer’s morning glory vines
An old white hat, a stubbed cigar, an empty bottle of wine
(Ch)
Lay me down, Carolina lay me down
Don’t want to wake up in the morning no more
Sing me one slow sad song
For this one last old time before they close the Minstrel Show
The money and the crowd ran out before we hit the last town
This old show has played its run, and run the curtain down
(Ch)
My banjo’s got a broken string, don’t expect I’ll get to fix it now
There won’t be no more time to sing I’m rusty anyhow
(Ch)
I don’t know where we go from here, come to that I just don’t care
We probably go to a better place, the minstrel show’ll be there
(Ch)