And all the bills at Ninety Days as you have draw’d so free,
Have been dishonoured, Abraäm, as punctual as could be.
We’ve fought, old Father Abraäm, and fought uncommon bold,
And gained amazing victories, or so at least we’re told;
And having whipped the rebels for a twelvemonth and a day,
We nearly found ’em liquoring in Washington in May.
Now, really, Father Abraäm, this here’s the extra ounce,
And we are almost sick, you see, of such almighty bounce;
We ain’t afraid of being killed at proper times and seasons,
But it’s aggravating to be killed for Mac’s strategic reasons.