Ballad of the Great Fight

Ballad of the great fight, between the union eagle and The old rooster, jeff. Davis.

Come volunteers, stick up your ears,
I’ll sing a song stupenjus
About a fight that’s just begun,—
And w’ont it be treineujus?

Of all the fighting fowls I know,
The Eagle is the scrouger;
He’s got a nail on every toe
That fits him for a gouger.

There is a little Southern cock,
About Montgomery strutting,
Who swears he can this eagle lick
And kill him dead as mutting.

Jeff. Davis is that rooster’s name,
His crowing threatens danger,
But though he tries to pass for game,
He’s but a dung-hill ranger.

Come Rooster Jeff, put on your gaffs
And fix yourself for action;
Our fowl will be afoul of you
And give you satisfaction.

The way he’ll claw you fore and aft,
Oh Jeff, will make you flutter,
Your bowels will dissolve with fear
And run like melted butter.

Spur up, old Bantam, do your best,
Our eagle likes such frolics;
And soon he’ll make your stomach ache
Like twenty dozen colies.

He’ll walk into you right away
And into powder grind you,
And when the devil comes for you
He ’ll scarce know where to find you.

You’ll find yourself in nasty plight
Before this work is ended,
And with the fume that you produce
Each nose will be offended.

Our Eagle, when he smells you, Jeff,
Will swear you stink with knavery,
And think that Buzzards ought to eat
A carcass so unsavory.

Old Southern cock, you’ll rue the day
You fought Columbia’s chicking,
For that’s the bird that’s bound to give
Rascality a licking.

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