Jeff. Davis' Dream

Johnson, Song Publisher, 7 N. 10th Street, Phila.

Jeff. Davis’ Dream.

’Twas one winter’s night, Jeff. Davs he lay,
Resting his weary head.
Strange stories to tell, the Devil appeared,
And unto Jeff. Davis he said-said-said,
And unto Jeff Davis he said.

If you’ll sell me your soúl, I’ll make you a King
Of the Southern Confederacy,
It’s a go said old Jeff., almost out of breath,
A man of my word I will be-be-be,
A man of my word I will be.

Then came Beauregard, and Davis then said,
A Commander-in-chief you shall be,
Of my forces on land, you shall be in command,
And have privateers on the sea-sea-sea,
And have privateers on the sea.

The next one was Floyd, with his roguish look,
He wanted to be Sec-re-tar-ree,
But Davis said no, indeed it’s no go,
You can handle no silver for me-me-me,
You can handle no silver for me.

The Devil he came and asked for his claim,
Davis could scarcely tell what to do,
Said the Devil make haste, I’ve no time to waste,
For old Nick he is waiting for you-you-you,
For old Nick he is waiting for you.

Johnson, Song Publisher, Stationer & Printer, No. 7 N. Tenth St., 3 doors above Market, Phila.

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