Our bridge, our shambles, cross and column,
All speak fair Stockton’s commendation.
Fill then your jovial bumpers round,
Join chorus all in Stockton’s glory;
Let us but love our native town,
A fig for patriot, whig, or tory;
Whate’er they say, whate’er they do,
Their aim is but to fleece the nation;
Let us continue firm and true
To honest Stockton’s commendation.