CHORUS.
Chief cook and bottle washer, captain of the waiters,
Stand upon your head while you peel a bag of taters.
Jog along.
I come from old Virginny with a pocket-full of news
I am worth four shillings, standing in my shoes;
Doesn’t make a bit of difference to either you or I,
Little pig, big pig, root hog or die.
Chief cook, &c.
The Broadway niggers look so mighty grand,
Shanghai coats and gloves upon the hand,
A big standing collar, standing away up to the sky,
Little pig, big pig, root hog or die.
Chief cook, &c.
Oh, these Broadway gals look so mighty gay,
With their hoop’d skirts promenading Broadway,
Their bonnets on their shoulders, and their noses to the sky,
They go it in the sun or shade—root hog or die.
Chief cook, &c.