Our system’s sech, the thing’ll root ez easy ez a tater;
For while your lords in furrin parts ain’t noways marked by natur’,
Nor sot apart from ornery folks in featurs nor in figgers,
Ef ourn’ll keep their faces washed, you’ll know ’em from their niggers.
Ain’t sech things wuth secedin’ for, an’ gittin’ red o’ you
Thet waller in your low idees, an’ will till all is blue?
Fact is, we air a diff’rent race, an’ I, for one, don’t see,
Sech havin’ ollers ben the case, how w’ ever did agree.
It’s sunthin’ thet you lab’rin’-folks up North hed ough’ to think on,
Thet Higgses can’t bemean themselves to rulin’ by a Lincoln,—