| |
| SOME tell us ’t is a burnin’ shame | |
| To make the naygers fight; | |
| An’ that the thrade of bein’ kilt | |
| Belongs but to the white: | |
| But as for me, upon my sowl! | 5 |
| So liberal are we here, | |
| I ’ll let Sambo be murthered instead of myself, | |
| On every day in the year. | |
| On every day in the year, boys, | |
| And in every hour of the day; | 10 |
| The right to be kilt I ’ll divide wid him, | |
| An’ divil a word I ’ll say. | |
| |
| In battle’s wild commotion | |
| I should n’t at all object | |
| If Sambo’s body should stop a ball | 15 |
| That was comin’ for me direct; | |
| And the prod of a Southern bagnet, | |
| So ginerous are we here, | |
| I ’ll resign, and let Sambo take it | |
| On every day in the year. | 20 |
| On every day in the year, boys, | |
| And wid none o’ your nasty pride, | |
| All my right in a Southern bagnet prod | |
| Wid Sambo I ’ll divide! | |
| |
| The men who object to Sambo | 25 |
| Should take his place and fight; | |
| And it ’s betther to have a nayger’s hue | |
| Than a liver that ’s wake an’ white. | |
| Though Sambo ’s black as the ace of spades, | |
| His finger a thrigger can pull, | 30 |
| And his eye runs sthraight on the barrel-sights | |
| From undher its thatch of wool. | |
| So hear me all, boys darlin’, | |
| Don’t think I ’m tippin’ you chaff, | |
| The right to be kilt we ’ll divide wid him, | 35 |
| And give him the largest half! | |
| |
