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American Ballads and Folk Songs
I fought with old Bob Lee for three years about,
Got wounded in four places and starved at Point Lookout.
I caught the rheumatism a-campin' in the snow,
But I killed a chance of Yaxikees and I wish I'd killed some mo'!
Three hundred thousand Yankees is dead in Southern dust, We got three hundred thousand before they conquered us; They died of Southern fever, of Southern steel and shotó I wish they was three million instead of what we got.
I hate the Constitution, this great republic, too;
I hate the nasty eagle, and the uniform so blue;
I hate their glorious banner, and all their flags and fuss.
Those lying, thieving Yankees, I hate 'em wuss and wuss.
I hate the Yankee nation and everything they do; I hate the Declaration of Independence, too; I hate the glorious Union, 'tis dripping with our blood; I hate the striped banner, I fought it all I could.
I won't be reconstructed! I'm better now than them; And for a carpetbagger, I don't give a damn; So I'm off for the frontier, soon as I can go, I'll prepare me a weapon and start for Mexico.
I can't take up my musket and fight them now no mo', But I'm not goin' to love 'em and that is certain sho'; And I don't want no pardon for what I was or am, I won't be reconstructed and I don't give a damn.