Thet sets by th’ graven imiges o’ the gret Nothun Dagon;
(Now I hain’t seen one in six munts, for, sence our Treasury Loan,
Though yaller boys is thick anough, eagles hez kind o’ flown;)
An’ ef J. wants a stronger pint than them thet I hev stated,
Wy, she’s an aliun in’my now, an’ I’ve ben cornfiscated,—
For sence we’ve entered on th’ estate o’ the late nayshnul eagle,
She hain’t no kin’ o’ right but jest wut I allow ez legle:
Wut doos Secedin’ mean, ef’t ain’t thet nat’rul rights hez riz, ’n’
Thet wut is mine’s my own, but wut’s another man’s ain’t his’n?
Bersides, I couldn’t do no else; Miss S. suz she to me,