My heart bled along the Waccamaw,
where ancient warriors reigned.
I wonder if their spirits saw
as I kneeled there, pained.
Carolina! She beckoned me to rise,
and her warm sun kissed my face.
A glory came fore my eyes,
which is this Southern place.
Hail, you Carolinas of mine,
you’ve dearly blessed your son.
There’s naught I’d rather be than thine,
I am grateful for all you’ve done.
Your beauties are like Eden to me,
and I shall never forget you, amour!
You will be the first and last I see,
and there’s nothing I’d want more.
A Tarheel I was in the womb,
and that I have been all my days.
A Tarheel I shall be in my tomb,
having sung this final praise.