Ridin' A Raid
'Tis old Stonewall the Rebel that leans on his sword,
And while we are mounting prays low to the Lord:
"Now each cavalier that loves Honor and Right,
Let him follow the feather of Stuart tonight."
Come, tighten your girth and slacken your rein;
Come buckle your blanket and holster again;
Try the click of your trigger and balance your blade,
For he must ride sure that goes Riding a Raid!
Now gallop, now gallop, To swim or to ford,
Old Stonewall still watching prays low to the Lord:
"Good-Bye, dear old Rebel! the river's not wide,
And Maryland's light's in her window to guide."
There's a man in the White House with blood on his mouth,
There's knaves in the North, there are braves in the South;
We are three thousand horses, and not one afraid,
We are three thousand sabers, and not a dull blade.