the Despot's song. by old Secesh. With a beard that was filthy and red, His mouth with tobacco bespread, be Lincoln sat in the gay White House, A-wishing that he was dead. Swear!
swear! swear! Till his tongue was blistered o'er; Then, in a voice not very strong, He slowly whined the Despot's song: Lie!
lie! lie! I've lied like the very deuce! Lie!
lie! lie! As long as lies were of use; But now that lies no longer pay, I know not where to turn; For when I the truth would say, My tongue with lies will burn I Drink!
drink! drink! Till my lead feels very queer! Drink!
drink! drink! Till I get rid of all fear! Brandy, and whiskey, and gin, Sherry, and champagne, and pop, I tipple, I guzzle, I suck 'em all in, Till down dead-drunk I drop. Think!
think! think! Till my head is very sore! Think!
think! think! Till I couldn't think any more! And it's oh!
to be splitting of rails, Back in my Illinois hut; For now that every thing fails, I would of my office be “shut!” Jeff.!