Thet strings a feller with a claim up tu the nighest bough,
An’ prectises the rights o’ man, purtects down-trodden debtors,
Ner wun’t hev creditors about a-scrougin’ o’ their betters:
Jeff’s gut the last idees ther’ is, poscrip’, fourteenth edition,
He knows it takes some enterprise to run an oppersition;
Ourn’s the fust thru-by-daylight train, with all ou’doors for deepot,
Yourn goes so slow you’d think ’t wuz drawed by a last cent’ry teapot;—
Wal, I gut all on ’t paid in gold afore our State seceded,
An’ done wal, for Confed’rit bonds warn’t jest the cheese I needed:
Nut but wut they’re ez good ez gold, but then it’s hard a-breakin’ on ’em,