Here's a poem that I found today in an 1867 New Orleans newspaper. It was written in jest as an example of "bad poetry," but after 150 years it has a certain charm. I've also attached the original letterpress version which would make a nice design for a t-shirt.
In the year 1859,
I hung my banjo on a vine,
The banjo fell upon the ground
Now banjoes grow up all around.
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