The Mercenary Lover
Sing me a song of the South, my love,
Of dear old Dixie land;
Where flowers are abloom and skies above
And the climate's pretty grand;
Where the mocking birds and the cuckoos flit
All day from tree to tree.
Make me a song like that, and split
The royalties with me.
Sing me a song of the South, my love,
Of dear old Dixie land;
Where flowers are abloom and skies above
And the climate's pretty grand;
Where the mocking birds and the cuckoos flit
All day from tree to tree.
Make me a song like that, and split
The royalties with me.
Of dear old Dixie land;
Where flowers are abloom and skies above
And the climate's pretty grand;
Where the mocking birds and the cuckoos flit
All day from tree to tree.
Make me a song like that, and split
The royalties with me.
Sing me a song of the South, my love,
Of dear old Dixie land;
Where flowers are abloom and skies above
And the climate's pretty grand;
Where the mocking birds and the cuckoos flit
All day from tree to tree.
Make me a song like that, and split
The royalties with me.
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