I hates the Constitution
This great Republic too
I hates the Freedmen's Buro
In uniforms of blue.
I hates the nasty eagle
With all his brag and fuss
But the lyin', thievin' Yankees
I hates' em wuss and wuss.

Three hundred thousand Yankees
Lies still in Southern dust
We got three hundred thousand
Before they conquered us
They died of Southern fever
And Southern steel and shot
I wish they was three million
Instead of what we got.