a peppy song from 1921
words and music by Malcolm Scott
The sheet music:
Accompaniment by James Pitt-Payne:
Lyrics
- Paris, France
New York or Chicago haven’t got a chance
You can’t compare them
With that Indiana town of mine
I will pine
Until I get there and I sure do yearn
To see my buddies
In that old dominion of my birth
Can have your Broadway styles
Just come a thousand miles
And see the greatest town on earth
Chorus
I’m gonna float my boat
Right back to Terre Haute
That’s where the banks
Of the Wabash beckon to me
Right where they’ve got the pep
Everybody happy, gonna watch my step
I’ll sure be glad to see the folks back home
I’ll write or telephone
There’ll be a celebration there I’ll say
And then I’ll drift right in
Don’t have to sink or swim
I’m gonna float right back to Terre Haute
- Shake your feet
Listen to that whistle blowin’
Can’t be beat
Now rush, we’ll soon be goin’
To my Indiana home
When I roam
I always keep in mind a place my own
I’m gonna be there
And it won’t be long I calculate
I’ve got mind all straight
Don’t have to stop or wait
And that’s why I’m right here to state
Sung here by Vancha March: