The Draft is a Coming
H. DE MARSAN, Publisher, 54 Chatham Street, New-York.
The Draft is a coming.
Say. Gents, hab yon seen de enrolling officer,
Wid de muff[ILL]tach on his face,
Go long dis block, some time dis morning,
Like he gwine to leab de place?
He seen de smoke way up in Harlem,
Whar de anti-draft-men lay;
An’ he took his books, an’ lef’ berry sudden:
So, I spec’ he’s run away!
He’s five foot one way, t’ree foot tudder,
An’ he’s two hundred an’ ninety pounds;
His pocket so big. yet he wouldn’t pay de tailor,
Whenever he comes around;
He is so rich, dey call him Contractor,
An’ he owns a lot of land;
He’s gwine to try to fool us, Yankees,
To fight wid de contraband.
Every body’s feeling berry lonesome:
For, dey spec’ de draft to cum:
For, when de draft goes in operation,
Dey’ll call on ebery one;
But rec’lect some hab t’ree hundred,
An’ dey’re exempt, you know—
An’ those dat hab got to do de fighting,
Are de poor dat hab to go.
Congress makes us a good-deal ob trouble:
For de Union dey don’t care:
Mixed up in some money spec’lation,
Dey all hab a berry good share:
Dey hab seen our men killed by de t’ousand,
Dere’s no use for to laugh:
Dey still t’ink to carry on dis impartial,
An’ now dey gwine to draft,