A flag-staff will be hoisted, mother, two hundred feet in air,
And cannon will be ranged around the whole of Union Square,
And on the instant Phœbus shoots his arrows o’er the hill,
There’ll be a roar will shake the shore as far as Watsonville.
You know the tailor’s nephew, mother, they call him Squinty Ware;
Last year he powdered Perry’s jaw, and blinded Dobson’s mare,
And while his poor old grandmamma was peeping through the blind,
She got a “whiz” in her old phiz, that she’ll forever mind.
And Henrietta Loring, mother, tied crackers to the tail
Of Deacon Reed’s big, lazy hound, while eating from a pail;