No trials, Sir, by jury!
That no elections should be held,
Across the briny waters!
“And now,” says he, “I’ll tax the tea
Of all his sons and daughters.”
Then down he sat in burly state,
And blustered like a grandee,
And in derision made a tune
Called “Yankee doodle dandy.”
“Yankee Doodle”—these are facts—