Roll The Woodpile Down
Away down South where the cocks do crow,
Way down in Florida
Them gals all dance to the old banjo.
And we'll roll the woodpile down
Rollin! Rollin! Rollin the whole world round,
That brown gal of mine's on the Georgia line!
And we'll roll the woodpile down!
When I was a young man in my prime,
I danced with the brown gals two at a time.
We'll roll him high and we'll roll him low,
We'll hoist him up anyway we'll go.
Oh - roust and bust her is the cry,
A sailor's wage is never high.
My dear old mother wrote to me:
"Tom, my son, come home from sea."
She sent me money she sent me clothes,
I drank the money and I pawned the clothes.
One more pull and that'll do,
For we're the boys to kick her through.