Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 4.
Frank Moore, Ed.

9. 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.! Jeff.! Jeff.!
     To you as a suppliant I kneel!
Jeff.! Jeff.! Jeff.!
     If you could my horrors feel,
You'd submit at discretion,
     And kindly give in
To all my oppression,
     My weakness and sin!