Until he was bleeding and wounded,
And nary dried up on it then.
While two rifle regiments fought us,
And batteries tumbled us down,
Them cursed Black-Horse fellers charged us,
Like all the Dead Rabbits in town.
And that's just the way with them rebels,
It's ten upon one, or no fair;
But we emptied a few of their saddles—
You may bet all your soap on that air!