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Fold away all your bright tinted dresses |
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Fold it up carefully, lay it aside |
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Forth from its scabbard pure and bright |
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For sixty dajs and upward a storm of shell and shot |
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For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden |
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From Houston City and Brazos bottom |
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Furl that banner, for 'tis weary |
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Gallant nation, foiled by numbers |
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God bless our Southern land |
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Hark ! the clock strikes ! All, all that now remains .. |
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Hark the tocsin is sounding, my comrades |
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Hark! 'tis the shrill trumpet calling. |
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Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band. |
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Have you counted up the cost. |
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Hear the summons, sons of Texas. |
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Hear ye not the sound of battle |
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He fell and they cried, bring us home our dead ! |
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Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl. |
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Hurrah ! for the Southern confederate State ... |
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Hurrah for the South, the glorious South ! the land of song and story |
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Huzza ! huzza ! let's raise the battle-cry |
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I cannot listen to your words, the land is long and wide. |
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I come from old Manassas, with a pocket full of fun |
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If ever I consent to be married |
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I leave my home, and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart |
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I'll sing you a song of the South's sunny clime |
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I'm a soldier, you see, that oppression has made |
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I'm gwine back to de land of cotton. |
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I'm 'nation tired of being hired |
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In the land of the orange groves, sunshine and flowers |
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I remember the hour when sadly we parted, |
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" Is there any news of the war?" she said |
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It vos in Ni Orleans City |
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It was on a New Year's morn so soon |
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I've seen some handsome uniforms deck'd off with buttons bright |
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I wish I was in de land o' cotton |
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I wish I was in de land ob cotton |
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Just listen awhile, and give ear to my song. |
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King Abraham is very sick, |
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Kneel, ye Southrons, kneel and swear |
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Knitting for the soldiers |
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Lady, I go to fight for thee. |
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Land of our birth, thee, thee I sing. |
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Land of the South ! the fairest land |
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