Feller-men like oats an’ rye?

I dunno but wut it’s pooty

Trainin’ round in bobtail coats—

But it’s curus Christian dooty

This ’ere cuttin’ folks’s throats.

They may talk o’ Freedom’s airy

Tell they’re pupple in the face—

It’s a grand gret cemetary

Fer the barthrights of our race;

They jest want this Californy