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SONGSTER. 217
Dey may talk about dere opera, an gas-ser^rack^er*
nre,
But dey cant come to tea wid ole Wirginny never tire.
Chorus.
I caution de Cincinnati nigger, not to stop in my way,
For if dey do, for sartin, dey'l in the gutter lay:
When I was in New Orieans, dis child felt high,
I marched wid Genral Jackson an made de red coats
fly;
I play upon de cornstalk de true Yankee fiddle,
I lasses Uck from punken blow, an sugar from de
maple.
Chorus.
Ole Jim Brown, he sing—sing—some.
But the people not satisfied till young Jim come.
Now f hab come an tole you, all ob de cause.
An if you tink de song good, gib us your applause.
Now I hab sing you all I could, I pray dont cry encore,
Kase you kill yourself a laffin if I sing any more.
Chorus.
I went to de cradle rock ob de sweet liberty.
An I saw de names ob dose, who made dis country
free,
Dere lays de ship ob war, dey name de Constitution,
Which our brave hero sailed in, to England's confusion.
In dat place dey call Boston dey tout for liberte.
An dey throws de null-fires overbord, jis as dey did
de tea.
Chorus.
I went acres from Charlstown unto de Bunkerhill,
Which once de British try cUmb, but found it
difierkily