They were plucky as sin
But they had to come in
When they found how the Springfield could shoot—
Shoot, shoot!
How my blue-bottle barrel could shoot!
I was Vengeance when, with Miles through trackless snow,
The "fighting Fifth" took toll for Custer's fall;
I was Justice when we flayed Geronimo;
I was Mercy to the famished horde of Gall.
Oh, I was slow-plodding and steady;