Oh nigger-drivers, don’t you know

You ought to have a thrashing,

For kicking up this mighty row—

This game of Union-smashing?

Not satisfied with what you’ve got,

You want to bag and steal, sirs,

Our Capitol and capital—

With Jonathan you’ve to deal, sirs!

So corn-cobs twist your hair,

Gun-wheels run around you,

Alligators drag you off,

And empty kegs surround you!

The “mud-sills” have at length got tired

Of insolence and treason;

They’ll teach the rebels an all-fired

Lesson for the season.

Then sneak behind masked batteries,

Lay down in your trenches,

Send the darkies out on guard,

Make armorers of their wenches.

Yankee boys will make you hear

Constitution’s thunder!

Yankee blades in Yankee hands

Will fill your souls with wonder.