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Says he, I think so toa,
And I will put him through, He's got the true grit, and is a faithful guide,
He'll make my people hoe,
Each his particular row, And he'll stop this crowding on to t'other side.
Yes, John C. Fremont is the man, sir,
He'll soon quiet my alarm, He's faithful and he's true, And he'll never, never rue
The day I make him boss of my farm.
THERE IS THE WHITE HOUSE YONDER. Am.—A few days.
(By permission of S. T. Gordon, New-York, Publisher of the Music.)
A song I've got, my friends, for you,
Few days, few days; The tone and style will please you, too,
For we're going home. Fremont and freedom is our word,
Few days, few days; We've nailed our flag and drawn our sword,
For we're going home.
Chorus.—For there's the White House yonder,
Few days, few days, Fremont and Dayton's bound there;
We're going home; We can't be kept back longer,
Few days, few days, Every day we're growing stronger,
We're going home.