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THE OFFICERS OF DIXIE. By A Growler.
Let me whisper in your ear, sir, Something1 that the South should hear, sir,
Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie; A growing curse—a "burning shame," sir, In the chorus I will name, sir,
Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie.
Chorus.—The officers of Dixie alone, alone ! The honors share, the honors wear Throughout the land of Dixie! 'Tis so, 'tis so, throughout the land of Dixie.
Swelling 'round with gold lace plenty, See the gay " brass button " gentry; Solomon in all his splendors Was scarce arrayed like these "defenders."
In cities, sir, it is alarming To see them 'round the hotel swarming; And at each little " one-horse town," sir, See the "birds" how they "fly 'round," sir.