| Qualche buontempone nordista, conosciuta la canzoncina, prese... |
WET MORE! | JNO HARALSON |
| |
The women, bless their dear souls, | Jno Haralson! Jno Haralson! |
And everyone for war | We read in song and story |
To 'soldier boys' they'll give them shoes, | That women's in all these years, |
Their stockings by the score | Have sprinkled fields of glory; |
They'll give their jewels all away, | But never was it told before |
Their petticoats to boot | That how, midst scenes of slaughter |
They'll have saltpetre, or they'll shout, | Your Southern beauties dried their tears |
In earnest phrase--'Wet more'! | And went to making water. |
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The women, were it not for them | No wonder, Jno., your boys were brave |
Our country would be lost; | Who would not be a fighter |
They charm the world, they nerve our hearts | If every time he shot his gun |
To fight at every cost. | He used his sweetheart's nitre? |
What care they how our powder's made? | And, vice verse what could make |
They'll have it, or they'll bore | A Yankee soldier sadder |
Through mines or beds in stables laid, | Than dodging bullets fired from |
And, straining, cry 'Wet more'! | A pretty woman's bladder. |
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Women, yes they stoop to conquer | They say there was a subtle smell |
And keep their virtue pure; | That lingered in the powder; |
It is no harm to kill a beast | And as the smoke grew thicker, |
With chamber lye I'm sure. | And the din of battle grew louder |
But powder we are bound to have, | That there was found in this compound |
And this they've sworn before; | This serious objection; |
And if the needful thing is scarce, | The soldiers could not sniff it in |
They'll 'press' it and 'Wet more'! | Without a stiff erection. |
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