Jeff. Davis built a wagon, and on it put his name.
And Beauregard was driver of Secession’s ugly frame:
The horse he would get hungry, as most of horses do.
They had to keep the collar tight, to keep from pulling through.
The axles wanted greasing—the body wasn’t wide:
North Carolina jumped into it, Mississippi by her side,
Virginia took a cushioned seat, and Loui-iana next,
South Carolina got to “scrouging,” and Florida got vexed.
They asked Kentucky to take a ride, she said “the horse was blind,’
She shook her head at seeing Tennessee jump on behind:
But Jeff assured her “all was right,” the wagon it was new,
Missouri winked at Beauregard, and said “it wouldn’t do.”
Old Scott brought out his wagon—one that had run for years,
They caught Old Union hitched him up and greased the running gears
Said Scott, “McClellan, you’re the boy I want to fill my place,
So take the reins, and get the folks, and give Secesh a race.”
New York and Pennsylvania, with a host of Yankee boys,
Got up into the wagon, and they called for Illinois;
And old Ohio, she jumped in, Missouri tried her luck,
And Indiana threw her arms around good old Kentuck.
Old Union threw his head back—he travelled rather slow,
Until they reached Manassas—they hallooed “let him go,”
Their cheers for Union made him put new mettle in his heel,
He run into “Secession”—tore the spoke out of a wheel.
They took the broken wagon back, and put in all new spokes,
Secesh went down towards Kentuck, to tell it to the folks:
Old Union started after, and he made the welkin ring.
When he run into Secession at a little place—Mill Spring.
Secesh got scared and run away—the like was never seen:
Old Union threw his head back, and sail’d through Bowling Green,
Secesh ran to Cumberland, and could’nt get across—
He broke the reins that guided him, and trusted to his horse.
Old Union got his “dander up,” and passed him “under way.”
He run into Fort Donelson, but didn’t go to stay;
Tennessee fell out the wagon, and the balance of them cried,
And asked McClellan, as he passed, “Say, Mister, let us ride.”
They went from there to Nashville, and there they’ll change the scenes
They’ll grease the axle, turn old Union’s head towards New Orleans,
They’ll stop at Memphis, feed the hoss, and then they’ll let him go.
To drag Secesh’s rotton frame to the Gulf of Mexico.
Now Buckner he’s gone up the spout, and Floyd has seen the sights,
And all the boys that went away with Buckner for their “rights.”
Ah, boys, you’ve seen the elephant—I hope it wont be long.
Till you’ll be singing out with joy, “The Union, right or wrong.’,