The Ghost of a Banjo Coon (1909)

The fat's around the head, and the fool and his bed, work it down. Play by the ghost of the band of gold, and the cast work, all and the flaky wind of the will, his film, and the moon goes by the end.

Bullfrogs, throw cans of dogs to give the hound. He screams of birds and bears, and who can go? And goes the eyes of man all begins to groan And though it's the ghost of the dance, you'll prove A rat that's a steady theme to move the circle on the soul And every time the wind would blow it,

ramble on their bones And every stupid kippet is a stupid ghost that's formed Heh! A rabbit came along A rat for the rabbit's week we took it on the run He has to catch the wind and land, he didn't have no gun.

He grabbed it by the leg and lanced, but all his worries bled. When the rat is playing the sledgeball, go to his ass, wingy monkey, go. Play by the ghost on the dance, go to his ass.

Can't play, fall as a flinky webster will. He'll assume as the moon goes behind the hill. Full frog, scones, and the dogs, against the hogs Three, those sperm, and the hoes, and ghosts, y'all Full flies, up and off, against the grooms Of the no, it's the ghosts of the damn jokes