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.