Tralara! Tralara! Now forward to die;
For the banner, hurrah! and for sweethearts, good-by!
“Four hundred wild lads!” Maybe so. I’ll be bound
’Twill be easy to count us, face up, on the ground.
If we hold the road open, tho’ Death take the toll,
We’ll be missed on parade when the States call the roll—
When the flags meet in peace and the guns are at rest,
And fair Freedom is singing Sweet Home in the West.