His war-cry is “Union and Freedom!”
Give us Room.
Air—Buy a Broom.
From Northland we come with our sharp-shooting rifles,
To chase Southern traitors from Liberty’s soil;
All heedless of Bull-Runs or such passing trifles,
We’re bound to march onward, through danger or toil.
CHORUS.
Give us room! give us room!
Give us room! give us room!