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Song of the Southern soldier.

by P. B. C.

Air — Barclay and Perines' Draylma,

I'm a soldier you see, that oppression has made,
I don't fight for pay or for booty;
But I wear in my hat a blue cockade,
Placed there by the fingers of beauty.
The South is my home, where a black man is black,
And a white man there is a white man;
Now I'm tired of listening to Northern clack--
Let us see what they'll do in a fight, man.

The Yankees are ‘cute, they have managed somehow
Their business and ours to settle;
They make all we want from a pin to a plough,
Now we'll show them some Southern metal.
We have had just enough of their Northern law,
That robbed us so long of our right, man,
And too much of their cursed abolition jaw--
Now we'll see what they'll do in a fight, man!

Their parsons will open their sanctified jaws,
And cant of our slave-growing sin, Sir;
They pocket theprofits, while preaching the laws,
And manage our cotton to spin, Sir.
Their incomes are nice on our sugar and rice,
Though against it the hypocrites write, Sir.
Now our dander is up, and they'll soon smell a mice,
If we once get them into a fight, Sir.

Our cotton-bales once made a good barricade,
And can still do the state a good service--
With them and the boys of the blue cockade,
There is power enough to preserve us.
So shoulder your rifles, my boys, for defence,
In the cause of our freedom and right, man;
If there's no other way for to learn them sense,
We may teach them a lesson in fight, man.

The stars that are growing so fast on our flags,
We treasure as liberty's pearls;
And stainless we'll bear them, though shot into rags:
They were fixed by the hands of our girls.
And fixed stars they shall be in our national sky,
To guide through the future aright, man;
And young Cousin Sam, with their gleam in his eyes,
May dare the whole world to fight, man.

note.--The foregoing lines were written on the eighth of January, 1861, for a friend who had intended to sing them in the theatre, but thought at the time to be too much in the secession spirit. Cousin Sam, or C. S. Confederate States.--Richmond Examiner.

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