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Then to take the proceeds an’ hold them ez secu
rity For an issue o' bonds to be met at maturity With an issue o' notes to be paid in hard cash On the fus' Monday follerin' the 'tarnal Allsmash : This hez a safe air, an', once hold o’the gold, ’ud leave our vile plunderers out in the cold, An' might temp' John Bull, ef it warn't for the
Once gut from the banks o' my own Massissippi.
One gennleman says, ef we lef' our loan out
doubt ; But 't ain't jes' the takin, though 't hez a good
look, We mus' git sunthin' out on it arter it's took, An' we need now more ’n ever, with sorrer I own, Thet some one another should let us a loan, Sence a soger wun't fight, on’y jes' while he draws
his Pay down on the nail, for the best of all causes, 'thout askin' to know wut the quarrel 's about, — An' once come to thet, why, our game is played
out. It's ez true ez though I should n't never hev said it, Thet a hitch hez took place in our system o' credit; I swear it's all right in my speeches an' messiges, But ther''s idees afloat, ez ther' is about sessiges: Folks wun't take a bond ez a basis to trade on, Without nosin' round to find out wut it's made on, An' the thought more an' more thru the public
min' crosses Thet our Treshry hez gut ’mos’ too many dead
hosses. Wut's called credit, you see, is some like a balloon, Thet looks while it's up ’most ez harnsome 'z a
moon, But once git a leak in 't, an' wut looked so grand Caves righ' down in a jiffy ez flat ez your hand. Now the world is a dreffle mean place, for our sins, Where ther' ollus is critters about with long pins A-prickin' the bubbles we've blowed with sech
care, An' provin' ther' 's nothin' inside but bad air: They 're all Stuart Millses, poor-white trash, an'
sneaks, Without no more chivverlry 'n Choctaws or Creeks, Who think a real gennleman's promise to pay Is meant to be took in trade's ornery way: Them fellers an' I could n' never agree; They ’re the nateral foes o’ the Southun Idee; I'd gladly take all of our other resks on me To be red o’ this low-lived politikle 'con’my!
Now a dastardly notion is gittin' about
oozin' out, An' onless we can mennage in some way to stop it, Why, the thing 's a gone coon, an' we might ez
wal drop it.
Brag works wal at fust, but it ain't jes' the thing
gained. 't wuz the time for diffusin' correc' views abroad Of our union an’ strength an' relyin' on God; An', fact, when I'd gut thru my fust big surprise, I much ez half b’lieved in my own tallest lies, An' conveyed the idee thet the whole Southun pop
perlace Wuz Spartans all on the keen jump for Thermop
perlies, Thet set on the Lincolnites' bombs till they bust, An' fight for the priv'lege o' dyin' the fust; But Roanoke, Bufort, Millspring, an' the rest Of our recent starn-foremost successes out West, Hain't left us a foot for our swellin' to stand on, We've showed too much o' wut Buregard calls
abandon, For all our Thermopperlies (an' it's a We hain't hed no more) hev ben clean vicy-varsy, An’ wut Spartans wuz lef' when the battle wuz done Wuz them thet wuz too unambitious to run.
Oh, ef we hed on’y jes' gut Reecognition,
ade Smashed up into toothpicks; unlimited trade In the one thing thet 's needfle, till niggers, I
SWOW, Hed ben thicker 'n provisional shin-plasters now; Quinine by the ton ’ginst the shakes when they
Nice paper to coin into C. S. A. specie;
cies, With all the fus' fem’lies in all the fust offices ? 't wuz a beautiful dream, an' all sorrer is idle, But ef Lincoln would ha' hanged Mason an' Sli
dell! For would n't the Yankees hev found they 'd
ketched Tartars, Ef they'd raised two sech critters as them into
martyrs ? Mason wuz F. F. V., though a cheap card to win
on, But t' other was jes’ New York trash to begin on; They ain't o' no good in European pellices, But think wut a help they 'd ha' ben on their gal
lowses ! They'd ha' felt they wuz truly fulfillin' their mis
sion, An', oh, how dog-cheap we'd ha' gut Reecognition !
But somehow another, wutever we've tried, Though the the’ry 's fust-rate, the facs wun't coin
cide : Facs are contrary ’z mules, an' ez hard in the
mouth, An' they allus hev showed a mean spite to the
South. Sech bein' the case, we hed best look about For some kin' o' way to slip our necks out: Le''s vote our las' dollar, ef one can be found, (An', at any rate, votin' it hez a good sound) — Le’’s swear thet to arms all our people is flyin', (The critters can't read, an’ wun't know how we
lyin',) Thet Toombs is advancin' to sack Cincinnater, With a rovin' commission to pillage an' slahter, Thet we've throwed to the winds all regard for
wut's lawfle, An' gone in for sunthin' promiscu'sly awfle. Ye see,
hitherto, it's our own knaves an' fools Thet we've used, (those for whetstones, an' t' others
ez tools) An' now our las' chance is in puttin' to test The same kin' o' cattle up North an' out West, Your Belmonts, Vallandighams, Woodses, an' sech, Poor shotes thet ye could n't persuade us to tech, Not in ornery times, though we ’re willin' to feed
'em With a nod now an' then, when we happen to need
Why, for my part, I'd ruther shake hands with a