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56. Yankee vandals.

air--Gay and Happy.
The Northern Abolition vandals,
     Who have come to free the slave,
Will meet their doom in “Old Virginny,”
     Where they all will get a grave.

     So let the Yankees say what they will,
We'll love and fight for Dixie still,
     Love and fight for, love and fight for,
We'll love and fight for Dixie still.

They started for Manassas Junction,
     With an army full of fight,
But they caught a Southern tartar,
     And they took a bully flight.
So let the Yankees, etc.

“Old Fuss and Feathers” could not save them,
     All their boasting was in vain,
Before the Southern steel they cowered,
     And their bodies strewed the plain.
So let the Yankees, etc.

The “Maryland Line” was there as ever,
     With their battle-shout and blade,
They shed new lustre on their mother,
     When that final charge they made.
So let the Yankees, etc.

Old Abe may make another effort,
     For to take his onward way,
But his legions then as ever,
     Will be forced to run away.
So let the Yankees, etc.

Brave Jeff. and glorious Beauregard,
     With dashing Johnston, noble, true,
Will meet their hireling hosts again,
     And scatter them like morning dew.
So let the Yankees, etc.

When the Hessian horde is driven,
     O'er Potomac's classic flood,
The pulses of a new-born freedom,
     Then will stir old Maryland's blood.
So let the Yankees, etc.

From the lofty Alleghanies,
     To old Worcester's sea-washed shore,
Her sons will come to greet the victors,
     There in good old Baltimore.
So let the Yankees, etc.

Then with voices light and gladsome,
     We will swell the choral strain,
Telling that our dear old mother,
     Glorious Maryland's free again.
So let the Yankees, etc.

Then we'll crown our warrior chieftains,
     Who have led us in the fight,
And have brought the South in triumph,
     Through dread danger's troubled night.
So let the Yankees, etc.

And the brave who nobly perished,
     Struggling in the bloody fray,
We'll weave a wreath of fadeless laurel,
     For their glorious memory.
So let the Yankees, etc.

O'er their graves the Southern maidens,
     From sea-shore to mountain grot,
Will plant the smiling rose of beauty,
     And the sweet forget-me-not.
So let the Yankees, etc.

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