John was at last defeated—
And “Yankee doodle” was the march
To which his troops retreated.
Cute Jonathan, to see them fly,
Could not restrain his laughter:
“That tune,” says he, “suits to a T,
I’ll sing it ever after,”
Old Johnny’s face, to his disgrace,
Was flushed with beer and brandy,
E’en while he swore to sing no more,