Yankee Doodle Uncle Sam
Johnson, Song Publisher, Stationer & Printer, No. 7 N. Tenth St., 3 doors above Market, Phila.
Yankee Doodle Uncle Sam.
I’m Yankee—doodle Uncle Sam
Of freedom’s mighty farm, sirs,
That now near a hundred years,
Has worked unto a charm, sirs.
Bat some rogues talk of selling out,
And scaring up disunion,
But I’ll beat his back red, white and blue,
Who tries to split my Union.
My cotton bags away down South,
Are croaking rather sore, sir,
And so they will, and so they did,
In eighteen-thirty-four, sir.
They vowed their states they’d “nullify,”
And peel off like an onion,
Till brave old Jackson crowed shanghai.
And made ’em stick to Union. [crows,
Now won’t it be a ’tarnal sin,
That them same cotton bags, sir,
That helped to fence our freedom in,
Should help to split our flag, sir;
Before I suffer sich disgrace,
From any rebel minion,
I’ll white-wash every nigger’s face,
And make him shout for Union.
Oh shall the sons of ’76,
When brother stood by brother,
Bring freemen down to such a fix,
And make ’em eat each other?
The souls of Warren, Putnam. Stark,
With eyes as big as an onion,
Cry out, and bid us toe the mark,
And go our death for Union.
We won’t be skeered by any plan,
That tries to cut in two, sir,
The land where every man’s a man,
And ever woman too, sir.
Shall we, who foes could never lick,
Fall by our own disunion?
No; we’re bound to stick to the last brisk,
To the temple of our Union.
[Pulls out a large watch.]
This watch on freedom’s pivot hung,
Holds the eternal lever:
The sun and moon may both go wrong.
But Union’s time-piece, never.
Our nation works on such a string,
United in communion,
Take out one state, you split the spring,
And smash our clock of Union.
Our flag on nearly forty stars,
Floats where each ocean rolls, now,
And Dr. Hayes, just gone out,
To hang it on the pole, now,
May he who would divide that flag,
By scarin’ up disunion,
Be tied up in a wooly bag
And choked till he cries Union.
But may this fuss and feather strife,
Be like a gal and loveyer,
Or like a row, ‘twixt man and wife,
Be slicker when its over.
Let North and South together pull,
Like freemen in communion,
Let all dry-up, with nigger’s wool,
But never split our Union.