The Satterlee Boys to Uncle Sam
The Satterlee Boys To Uncle Sam.
Come, Uncle Sam, hear our appeal,
Turn out these vile exactors,
Who rob the soldier with a zeal—
These d-m-d Shoddy Contractors!
Deliver us from Satterlee,
Before our bowels riot;
For skeletons we soon shall be,
On this accursed diet!
Disease and wounds run life away,
And call for much to nourish;
But we must starve from day to day,
That offices may flourish!
I shall remember till I die
One thing, as I am a sinner:
Of taking bread upon tke sly
To finish up my dinner!
The master of our ward ’tis true.
Fell brutishly to cursing;
While he’d grown fat and bloated too,
On ‘bottle’ and good nursing!
Perhaps we may offend or shock,
Some of these unctious fellows,
Who are more vain than strutting cock,
More windy than a bellows!
But we care not for them a d-m-n,
Though prompt in doing duty;
While we conjecture, Uncle Sam
Elected them for beauty!
If you are shoulder strapped you’ll do,
If not, your fate is bitter:
Without remorse, they’ll tumble you,
Ere dead, upon the litter!
Through Pennsylvania well may boast,
Of her large hearted quakers;
“The Father, Son and Holy Ghost”
Would starve were they partakers.
Of every whit we get to eat
In this vile institution:
Our stomachs gnaw from want of meat,
Our guts in revolution!
The sutlers! they do not extort?
They do not get our wages, [scorch,
But names of those, whom hell shall
Would cover many pages!
If aught is false we write to you,
We call for execution;
Howe’er our wrongs you may construe,
We have our own solution!
We ask but justice at your hands:
Deliver from this diet;
Our hungry bellies make demands,
We have no food to quiet
A “green-back” V will scarce procure
For one a decent dinner;
Whate’er is trump one thing is sure,
The sutler is the winner!
This robbing soldiers of their pay,
Deserves our execration,
You cannot find, in all our way,
So mean an occupation!
Here’s to all Shoddies now a toast:
God grant you shot and shell too;
And send you, screeching like a ghost,
Into the mouth of hell too!
Now Uncle Sam, in aught we’ve said,
If you should find us erring,
From our poor shoulders chop our head,
Or roast us like a herring!