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'Tis old Stonewall, the rebel, that leans on his sword |
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To arms ! oh ! men in all our Southern clime |
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'Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three. |
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'Twas midnight when we built our fires |
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'Twas on that dark and fearful morn |
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Unclaimed by the land that bore us. |
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Upon Manassas' bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying |
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Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us |
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Wake! dearest, wake ! 'tis thy lover who calls, Imogen |
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We all went down to New Orleans |
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We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil |
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Weep, Louisiana, weep! thy gallant dead |
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We have ridden from the brave southwest |
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We leave our pleasant homesteads |
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We left him on the crimson'd field |
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Well, we can whip them now I guess |
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We're the boys so gay and happy |
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We're the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes |
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What shall the Southron's watchword be, |
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When clouds of oppression o'ershaded |
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When history tells her story |
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While crimson drops our hearth-stones stain |
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Whoop ! the Doodles have broken loose |
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Why can we not be brothers ? the battle now is o'er |
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Would'st thou have me love thee, dearest |
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Would you like to hear my song, I'm afraid its rather long |
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Ye men 01 Southern hearts and feeling |
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Ye sons of Carolina ! awake from your dreaming, |
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Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand |
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You are going to leave me, darling |
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You are going to the wars, Willie boy, Willie boy. |
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You can never win us back, |
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You know the Federal General Banks |
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Young as the youngest who donned the gray |
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Young Florida sends forth her clan—the old Dominion's brave |
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Young stranger, what land claims thy birth |
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You shudder as you think upon th' carnage of the grim report |
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