Don't You Go, Tommy

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E. NASON & CO SONG PUBLISHERS, 120 Fulton Street, New York

Don’t you go, tommy.

You will miss it, my boy, now mind what I say,
Don’t spend all your money and time in that way,
There’s no one but idlers that lounge about so,
I beg of you, Tommy, don’t go.
We’re feeble and old, your mother and me,
And kind as a mother has been should you be;
To whiskey shops, billiards, and cards bid adieu—
I beg of you, Tommy’ don’t go.

Why won’t you be steady, and work like a man,
I can’t hold the plow, but will do what I can;
There’s so much to do, and our grain we must sow;
I beg of you, Tommy, don’t go.
Besides there is corn and potatoes to plant,
You’re young and can stand it—you know that I can’t;
Let whiskey alone, for it grieves mother so;

We’ve watched o’er you, Tommy, in sweet infancy,
When angels were silently beckoning to thee;
At midnight we’ve knelt by your cradle so low—
I beg of you, Tommy, don’t go.
Be kind to us, Tommy; we’ll soon pass away:
The farm will be yours at no distant day;
Eternity’s blessings you’ll reap, if you sow—

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