The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home, ‘Tis summer, the Negroes are gay; The corn-top’s ripe and the meadow’s in the bloom, While the birds make music all the day. The young folks roll on the little cabin floor, All merry, all happy and bright; By’n by Hard Times comes a knocking at the door, Then my old Kentucky Home, good night! Chorus Weep no more, my lady, Oh! Weep no more today! We will sing one song For the old Kentucky Home, For the old Kentucky Home, far away. They hunt no more for the possum and the coon, On the meadow, the hill and the shore, They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon, On the bench by the old cabin door. The day trips by with a solace for the heart, To charm it and give it delight; The time has come when the Negro does his part To make my old Kentucky home, alright. Chorus The time has come when the head will never bow, Wherever the Negro may go; A few more years and he’ll show the nation how He will thrive where the sugar-canes grow. A few more days and he’ll shift the weary load, So that it will ever be light; A few more years and he’ll triumph on the road, And sing, my old Kentucky home’s alright.