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All day I've stud in rebel mud
A watchin' North Calinians. I might a bin safe up to Lynn,
A eatin' clams and inions.
All night I sit in straw that's wet,
Ketchen fleas and other critters; The boys down East are at a feast
With gals, doughnuts and fritters.
I hain't no pay for many a day ;—
Nigh unto a year I guess, Since a new Greenback hev crosst my track—
That's so with all my mess.
To pull my trigger for a big buck nigger
That lives on hog and hominy, While on hard tack my jaws I crack,
Ain't war " accordin' to Jomini."
It's monsus fine for the Bobolition line,
With mouths full o' pumpkin pie, To preach in meetin' agin' retreatin'—
Why don't they come theirselves and try?
They'd find the Confed's hev mighty hard heads,
And are pow'ful smart at shootin'; Their love for the old flag would very soon drag—
Lord ! how you'd see them scootin'.
That fool Burn side deserves a cowhide, Coz he's got neither pluck nor sense;
He shook like souse at the Phillip's house, While we was murder'd at Marye's fence. |
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