“Oh, I’m a good ole- Rebel, Now that’s just what I am
For this fair land of freedom I do not give a damn.
I’m glad I fit against it, I only wish we’d won,
And I don’t want any pardon for anything I done.
I rode with Robert E. Lee for four years thereabout,
Got wounded in three places and starved at Point Lookout,
I catched the rheumatism a sleeping in the snow,
But I killed a chance of Yankees and I’d like to kill some more.
Three hundred thousand Yankees are stiff in Southern dust,
We got 300,000 before they conquered us,
They died of Southern fever, of Southern still and shot,
But I wish it was three million instead of what we got.”
Post-Civil War ballad.