It hit him on de occupit,
Und laid him on de floor;
For many a long day afder
I ween his het was sore.
Dis roused Piet Weiser der Pfaelzer,
Who vas quick to act und dink;
He helt in hand a roller
Vheremit he vas rollin ink.
Und he dake his broof py shtrikin
Der Merican top of his het,
Und make soosh a vine impression,
Dat he left de veller for deat.
Allaweil dese dings oonfolded,
Dere vas rows of anoder kind,
Und drople in de wigwam
Enough to trife dem plind.
Und a crate six-vooted Soudern man
Vot hafe vorked on a Refiew,
Shvear he hope to Gott he mighd pie de forms
If de Breitmann's book warn't true.
For de Sout' vas ploundered derriple,
Und in dat darksome hour
He hafe lossed a yallow-pine maiden,
Of all de land de vlower.
Bright gold doublones a hoondered
For her he'd gladly bay
Ash soon ash a thrip for a ginger-cake,
Und deem it cheap dat day.
To him antworded a Yorker
Who shoomp den dimes de
boun-ti-ee:(De only dings
he lossed in de war
Was a sense of broperty.
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