“AWAY down South in the land of cotton
Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom
Look away, look away, look away down South in Dixie,”
sang the boy named Billy.
“Wherever did you dig up that old Dixie song?” Somebody asked, smiling. “I haven’t heard it in years.”
“Bob White’s Grandfather is always singing it,” said the boy named Billy, “and we play soldier to it—it has such a dandy swing to it—listen:
“‘In Dixie Land I’ll take my stand
To live and die for Dixie—Look away—
Look away—look away down South in Dixie’
—it’s an old war song, isn’t it?”