How Are You, Greenbacks

A. W. Auner, Stationer and Printer, 45 North Ninth St., Philadelphia, Pa.

How Are You, Green Backs

We’re coming, Father Abram, one hundred thousand more,
Five hundred presses printing us from morn till night is o’er;
Like magic, you will see us start and scatter thro’ the land,
To pay the soldiers or release the border contraband,
With our promise to pay, “How are you Secretary Chase?”
Promise to pay, Oh! dat’s what’s de matter.

We’re coming, Father Abram, one hundred thousand more,
And cash was ne’er easily evok’d from rags before;
To line the fat contractors purse, or purchase transport craft
Whose rotten hulks shall sink before the winds begin to waft,
With our promises to pay, “How are you Gideon Wells, Esquire?”
Promise to pay, Oh! can’t you fix the date.

We’re coming, Father Abram, one hundred thousand more.
I hope a pleasant blessing, though perhaps a future foe;
The simple terms on which we come, are hardly worth a fuss,
Now, Abe, as we may father you, I hope you’ll father us,
With your promise to pay, How are you “Cousin Postage Stamps”
Promise to pay—No more Rappahannock’s.

We’re willing Father Abram, one hundred thousand more,
should help our Uncle Samuel to prosecute the war,
But then we want a chieftain true, one who can lead the van,
Geo. B McClellan, you all know, he is the very man.
With his Potomac Army Grand, Peace once more will smile on us,
His Potomac Army Grand, three cheers for little Mac.

We’re coming, Father Abram, one hundred thousand more,
To march with gleaming bayonets upon the traitors’ shore,
But you must give us Generals on whom we can depend,
And not let paper Generals, drive off our faithful men,
With our promise to pay, How are you “Bull Run Russell,
Promise to pay—“Pop goes the weasel.”

We’re coming, Father Abram, nine hundred thousand strong,
With nine hundred thousand darkies, sure the traitors can’t last long,
With Corporal Cuff, and Sargent Pomp, to lead us in the melee,
And at their head, without a red, Our Brigadier General Greely,
With our promise to pay, How are you “Greely’s subscription list,”
Promise to pay—“Nip up de dooden doo.”

We’re coming, Father Abram, nine hundred thousand more,
With the greatest fighting hero, that lives upon our shore;
He fought in all the battles won, and shed his blood most freely
But he’s fought them with the Tribune, and his name is Gen’l Greely.
with our promise to pay, How are you “Black Brigade,”
Promise to pay—Three cheers for Father Abe!

A. W. Auner, Song Publisher, 45 North Ninth St., Philadelphia, Pa.

Item Information help

blog comments powered by Disqus