American Old Time Song Lyrics: 39 The Battle Of Bunker Hill

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 39

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It was on the seventeenth, by break of day, the Yankees did surprise us;
With their strong works they had thrown up, to burn the town And drive us.

But soon we had an order come, an order to defeat them:
Like rebels stout, they stood it out, and thought we ne'er could beat them.

About the hour of twelve that day an order came for marching;
With three good flints, And sixty rounds, each man hoped to discharge them.

We marched down to the Long Wharf, where boats were ready waiting;
With expedition we embarked, our ships kept cannonading.

And when our boats all filled were, with officers and soldiers;
With as good troops as England had, to oppose who dare control us?

And when our boats all filled were, we rowed In line of battle;
Where showers of ball like hail did fly, our cannon loud did rattle.

There Copp's Hill battery near Charlestown, our twenty-fours they played;
And the three frigates in the stream they very well behaved.

The Glasgow frigate cleared the shore, all at the time of landing;
With her grape-shot And cannon-balls, no Yankee e'er could stand them.

And when we landed on the shore, we draw'd up all together;
The Yankees they all manned their works, and thought we'd ne'er come hither.

But soon they did perceive brave Howe, brave Howe, our bold commander;
With grenadiers And infantry we made them to surrender.

Brave William Howe on our right wing cried, "Boys, fight on like thunder;
You soon will see the rebels flee, with great amaze and wonder."

Now some lay bleeding on the ground, and some fell fast a-running; [coming."
O'er hills and dales, and mountains high, cursing, "Zounds! brave Howe's a-

Brave Howe is so considerate, as to guard against all dangers;
He allowed each half a gill a day, to rum we were no strangers.

They began to play on our left wing, where Pigot he commanded;
But we returned it back again, with courage most undaunted.

To our grape-shot And musket balls, to which they were but strangers,
They sought to come with sword in hand, but soon they found their danger.

And when their works were got into, and put hem to the flight, sir;
They peppered us, poor British elves, And showed us they could fight, sir.

And when their works we got into, with some hard knocks and dancer;
Their works we found both firm And strong, too strong for British Rangers.

But as for our artillery, they gave all way and run;
For while their ammunition held, they gave us Yankee fun.

But our commander, he got broke, for his misconduct, sure, sir;
The shot he sent for twelve-pound guns were made for twenty-fours, sir.

There's some in Boston pleased to say, as we the field were taking;
We went to kill their countrymen, while they their hay were making.

For such stout wings I never saw, to banc them all I'd rather;
By making hay with musket balls, Lord Howe cursedly did bother.

Bad luck to him by land and sea, for he's despised by many;
The name of Bunker Hill he dreads, where he was flogged most plainly.

And now my song is at an end, and to conclude my ditty; 'Tis only Britons ignorant that I most sincerely pity.
As for our king and William Howe, and Genera! Gage, if they're taken; The Yankees will hang their heads up high on that fire hill called Beacon.
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