John Harrolson! John Harrolson!
You are a funny creature—
You’ve given to this cruel war
A new and curious feature.
You’d have us think while every man
Is bound to be a fighter,
The women (bless the pretty dears!)
Should be put to making niter!
John Harrolson! John Harrolson!
Where did you get the notion
To send your barrels round the town
To gather up the lotion?
We thought the girls had work enough
In making shirts and kissing,
But now you’d put the pretty dears
To patriotic pissing!
John Harrolson! John Harrolson!
Could you not invent a neater
And somewhat less immodest mode
Of making your salpeter?
The thing’s so very queer, you know,
Gunpowder-like and cranky—
That when a lady lifts her shift
She shoots “a bloody Yankee!”