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O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John ! let's take the field together, And hunt the Yankee Doodles home, in spite of wind and
weather, And ere a twelve-month roll around, to Boston we will go, And eat our Christmas dinner there, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!
By Gen. Basil Duke, of Kentucky.
Air—A combination of the "Marseillaise" and the " Old Granite State.''''
Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand, For the foot of the foe hath insulted your land :
Sound ! sound the loud alarm !
Arise ! arise and arm ! Let the hand of each foeman grasp the sword to maintain Those rights which, once lost, he can never regain.
Chorus.—Gather fast 'neath our flag, For 'tis God's own decree, That its folds shall still float O'er a land that is free!
See ye not those dark clouds which now threaten the sky? Hear ye not that stern thunder now bursting so nigh ?
Shout! shout your battle-cry !
Win ! win this fight or die! What our fathers achieved our own valor can keep, And we'll save our fair land or we'll sleep our last sleep !