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FOLK-SONGS OF THE CIVIL WAR.
CALL ALL.
Whoop ! the Doodles have broken loose, Roaring around like the very deuce. Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack ; After 'em, boys, and drive 'em back,
Bull-dog, terrier, cur, and fice, Back to the beggarly land of ice. Worry 'em, bite 'em, scratch and tear Everybody and everywhere.
Old Kentucky is caved from under; Tennessee is split asunder, Alabama awaits attack, And Georgia bristles up her back.
Old John Brown is dead and gone, Still his spirit is marching on, — Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys, Long as an ape's from Illinois.
Want a weapon ? Gather a brick, A club or cudgel, a stone or stick, Anything with a blade or butt, Anything that can cleave or cut;
Anything heavy, or hard, or keen ; Any sort of slaying machine ; Anything with a willing mind And the steady arm of a man behind.
Want a weapon ? Why, capture one ; Every Doodle has got a gun, |
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