Inspired by a history project Boneapart’s son is doing in school, this week’s theme is American History. Join Boneapart and Yulia as they play and discuss the origins of three American songs and their impact on society.
(warning: the lyrics for Oh! Susanna! below include both the original racist lyrics as well as the newer sanitized lyrics)
Lyrics
Wreck of the Old 97
Well, they gave him his orders in Monroe, Virginia
Saying Steve you are way behind time
This is not thirty eight, but it’s old ninety seven
You must put her into Spencer on time
He turned and said to his tired greasy fireman
Shovel on a little more coal
And when we cross the White Oak Mountain
You can watch old Ninety-Seven roll
It’s a mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville
On a line on a three mile grade
It was on this grade that he lost his leverage
You can see what a jump he made
He was going down the grade making ninety miles an hour
When his whistle broke into a scream
They found him in the wreck with his hand on the throttle
He was scalded to death by the steam
Now all you ladies you must take warning
From this time now on learn
Never speak harsh words to your true loving husband
He may leave you and never return
Battle Hymn of the Republic
(Julia Ward Howe)
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.
Chorus:
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on.
Chorus
I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on.”
Chorus
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
Chorus
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
Chorus
He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,
He is Wisdom to the mighty, He is Succour to the brave,
So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of Time His slave,
Our God is marching on.
Chorus
Oh! Susanna!
(Stephen Foster)
(Modernized Text)
I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee,
I’m going to Louisiana, my true love for to see
It rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry
The sun so hot I froze to death; Susanna, don’t you cry.
Oh, Susanna, don’t you cry for me
cos’ I come from Alabama
With my banjo on my knee.
had a dream the other night when everything was still,
I thought I saw Susanna coming up the hill,
A buck wheat cake was in her mouth, a tear was in her eye,
I said I’m coming from the south, Susanna don’t you cry.
I soon will be in New Orleans and then I’ll look around
And when I find my Susanna, I’ll fall upon the ground
But if I do not find her, this man will surely die
And when I’m dead and buried, Susanna don’t you cry.
(Original Text)
I came from Alabama, Wid a banjo on my knee,
I’m gwyne to Louisiana, My true love for to see.
It rain’d all night the day I left, The weather it was dry,
The sun so hot I froze to death; Susanna, don’t you cry.
Chorus:
Oh! Susanna, Oh don’t you cry for me,
cos’ I’ve come from Alabama, Wid my banjo on my knee
I jumped aboard the telegraph, And trabbled down the riber,
De lectric fluid magnified, And killed five hundred nigger.
De bullgine bust, de horse run off, I really thought I’d die;
I shut my eyes to hold my breath, Susanna don’t you cry.
CHO: Oh Susanna &c.
I had a dream the odder night, When ebery thing was still
I thought I saw Susanna A Coming down de hill;
The buck-wheat cake was in her mouth, The tear was in her eye;
Says I, “I’m coing from de south, Susanna, don’t you cry.”
CHO: Oh Susanna &c.
I soon will be in New Orleans, And den I’ll look all round,
And When I find Susanna, I will fall upon de ground.
And If I do not find her, Dis Darkie’l surely die,
And when I’m dead and buried, Susanna, don’t you cry.