3. Fort Pillow: a Southern Hymn of praise.Down with him! Slay him! for he dared to brave
Our protest 'gainst the fighting of the slave.
He is a white man, who has led in fight
Negroes — cursed negroes — who are ours by right.
Give him no quarter! Stop his Yankee breath!
Pierce him a hundred times! make sure his death!
Pave him with bullets! let ten thousand fly!
Every white officer this day must die!
See! there's another, writhing and near dead,
Asking for water! Give him steel instead!
Drive deep the dagger in his Yankee breast,
Prove “best of cutthroats” --ay, the very best.
These are but carrion, and we're birds of prey;
Gloat o'er your victims, make a glorious day.
Stop that young nigger's cry — knock out his brains--
Cover the fortress with all bloody stains!
Sainted be every one who on this day
Negro or white man or a child shall slay!
Glorious the wreath upon his brow shall be,
Bright with the splendor of his chivalry!
But to the hospital: come, let us fly;
Half the work's done for us, but all must die!
Finish them quickly, and let every bed
Drink and be drunken with the blood that's shed!
Let blood have carnival, let hate go free!
Men, hating devils, purer saints shall be!
Yankees are devils, and we hate them well!
Cursed be their canting lips, inspired of hell!
Slay them, and spare them not, and you shall prove
Heirs of a nation's gratitude and love;
And on the escutcheon of the South shall stand
Fort Pillow's glories and its Martyr Band
Bring up the prisoners — form them in line--
Aim at them steadily — shoot them like swine!
Bury them quickly, the grave must be fed!
Bury them living, if all are not dead!
Heed not entreaties, but laugh them to scorn!
Yankees for Southerners' slaughter were born!
Make death your ally, and befriend the grave;
Court with destruction, and be hard and brave.
Finished--'tis finished, and we leave the fray,
Blood-stained, but glory-crowned, with hearts all gay 
Stronger and bolder for the feast of blood,
Filled with the glory of all Southernhood.
Shout all humanity, and with us raise,
Loud and unanimous, a song of praise;
Great is our victory, and our glory's great,
Thanks to our chivalry and Yankee hate!
Old Hall, stand.