The Old Rifleman.
Reading edition
By Frank Ticknor, of Georgia.
Now bring me out my buckskin suit! My pouch and powder, too! We'll see if seventy-six can shoot As sixteen used to do.
Old Bess! we've kept our barrels bright! Our trigger quick and true! As far, if not as fine a sight, As long ago we drew!
And pick me out a trusty flint! A real white and blue, Perhaps 'twill win the other tint Before the hunt is through!
Give boys your brass percussion caps! Old "shut-pan" suits as well! There's something in the sparks: perhaps There's something in the smell!
We've seen the red-coat Briton bleed! The red-skin Indian, too! We've never thought to draw a bead On Yanke-doodle-doo!
But, Bessie! bless your dear old heart! Those days are mostly done; And now we must revive the art Of shooting on the run!
If Doodle must be meddling, why, There's only this to do-- Select the black spot in his eye, And let the daylight through!
And if he doesn't like the way That Bess presents the view, He'll maybe change his mind, and stay Where the good Doodles do!
Where Lincoln lives. The man, you know, Who kissed the Testament; To keep the Constitution? No! To keep the Government!
We'll hunt for Lincoln, Bess! old tool, And take him half and half; We'll aim to hit him, if a fool, And miss him, if a calf!
We'll teach these shot-gun boys the tricks By which a war is won; Especially how Seventy-six Took Tories on the run.