XCIV
Yes-sir! Doc's got convictions and old-fashioned kind o' ways
And idies 'bout this glorious Land o' Freedom; and he'll raise
His hat clean off, no matter where, jes ever' time he sees
The Stars and Stripes a-floatin' there and flappin' in the breeze.
XCV
And tunes like old "Red, White and Blue" 'll fairly drive him wild,
Played on the brass band, marchin' through the streets! Jes like a child
I've saw that man, his smile jes set, all kind o' pale and white,
Bare-headed, and his eyes all wet, yit dancin' with delight!
XCVI
And yit, that very man we see all trimbly, pale and wann,
Give him a case o' surgery, we'll see another man!—
We'll do the trimblin' then, and we'll git white around the gills—
He'll show us nerve o' nerves, and he 'ull show us skill o' skills!
XCVII
Then you could toot your horns and beat your drums and bang your guns,
And wave your flags and march the street, and charge, all Freedom's sons!—
And Sifers then, I bet my hat, 'u'd never flinch a hair,
But, stiddy-handed, 'tend to that pore patient layin' there.