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" We'll pray for the conscript, with frown on his brow, To fig-lit for his country he won't take the vow ; May bad luck and bad fortune him always attend; And die with dishonor!" said the soldier, " Amen !" |
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HERE'S YOUR MULE.
A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell, Upon a mule who oft would stray to where no one could tell, The farmer, tired of his tramp, for hours was made a fool By ev'ryone he met in camp, with, "Mister, here 's your mule."
Chorus.—Come on, come on, come on, old man, and don't be made a fool, I'll tell the truth as best I can, John Morgan 's got your mule.
His eggs and chickens all were gone before the break of day,
The mule was heard of all along—that's what the soldiers say;
And still he hunted all day long—alas ! the witless fool—
While ev'ry man would sing the song, " Mister, here 's your
mule."
Chorus.
The soldiers now, in laughing mood, on mischief were intent, They toted muly on their backs, around from tent to tent; Through this hole and that they pushed his head, and made
a rule To shout with humorous voices all, "Mister, here 's your mule."
Chorus. |
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