Atlanta Daily World

Up From GEORGIA
With My Banjo
By THOMAS JEFFERSON FLANNAGAN
Pack Romping

UP from Fort Benning and they head for everywhere
And may high heaven defend them and a good Lord hear their prayer;
Packs hump their shoulders and the captain says no rest,
But a song is in their bosoms and a light is in their breast.
Pack marching fellows,
From Benning to everywhere
And may high heaven defend them
And a good Lord hear their prayer.

The little one-room school shanty. the cabin in the lane,
Are represented mong 'em-who shiver in the rain
And brave the wild wind's howling as they hoofing fare
Out the gates of Benning through the seas of everywhere.

the mule,
Here's little Jim Jones from Georgia who used to march
Pete Rakestraw from Florida, who spent one month at school,
And Sammie Brown from Texas just from the Soup-line hut.
But they've got on their brown khakis-and just look at them strut.
Strong black men are marching, can't you hear their feet?
Meeting them "Four Freedoms" and honey ain't they sweet
Who wave the Spangled Banner through the skies of hope
Where they sawed the tree-limbs with the ridges of the rope.

They're coming back one morning--when the rosied skies are fair.
And glory's gleam will follow them home from everywhere;
And the world will hail them heroes that honor stood,
And we'll have one country gentleman, one united brother- hood.