| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
29
I think you'd better strike your flag, although it is sublime,
And I've heard them say there was a man all in the olden time,
Who had precisely such a flag unto his mizzen nailed,
" And his name was—Captain Kyd, as he sailed—as he sailed." Chorus.—Wait till November, &c.
You'll find the trip a long one, they will not let you stop, But keep up the excursion till they've rowed you to the
top ; Then come along, my Jimmy, to Salt River's farthest
town, And there be snugly packed away, a Buck well salted
down. Chorus.—Wait till November, &c. |
||
|
OLD JAMMIE BUCK, MY JO,
Air—John Anderson, my Jo.
Auld Jamie Buck, my Jo, Jem,
When we were first acquaint ; Ye were a blue-light Fed'ralist,
Of most unsavory taint; But now ye are a Democrat— '
At least ye tell us so— Forgi'e me, but it winna do,
Auld Jamie Buck, my Jo.
Auld Buck, ye once protested
That if within a vein, A drop of Democratic blood
Your carcass should profane, Ye'd tap it like a cask of ale,
And let it out, you know ; But syne ye croon anither tune,
Auld Jamie Buck, my Jo.
And weel I mind the time, Jem,
When ye were wont to say That puir folk should be satisfied
To win ten cents a day; |
||