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There are fishes in the river,
All fitting for our use ; And fine lofty sugar-canes
Will yield to us their juice ; There are all sorts of game, my boys,
Besides the buck and doe ; With our scouts out on the prairie, We '11 chase Little Crow. We '11 chase, &c.
Come, all you pretty, fair maidens,
And spin us some yarn, That we may have some clothing,
To keep ourselves warm ; O you may card and spin, sweet girls,
While we pursue the foe ; With our scouts out on the prairie, We '11 chase Little Crow. We '11 chase, &c.
Supposing those wild Indians By chance should interfere,
We '11 all unite together,
With our hearts free from care;
We '11 march into their tepees, And strike the deadly blow;