They got the news down to the store;
The supreme court turned loose Eugene Moore.
An’ Cuba's starvin’ yit an’ Spain
Gone an’ blowed up our steamship Maine;
Gage an’ McKinley an’ Tom Reed
Put their heads together an’ agreed
No matter what the contracts hold,
We’ve got to pay them bonds in gold,
Except Joe Bartley’s bond—somehow,
Nobody pays nothin’ there nohow.

Cap Price spoke fust: ‘From whereas to amen
I’ve been a black republikin—
Voted fur Fremont ‘n John P. Hale;
Fit thru’ the war ‘n been in jail
Fur helpin’ niggers free and loose—
But this dose surely cooks my goose."

Old Fritz struck with his Prussian fist
The counter—"Donnerwetter, wie dot ist—
Dot kann ich nicht verstehn viel—
He dakes dot money, but don’d steal!
Dot supreme court yet makes it out
Kraut ist—nicht kraut in sauer kraut.
Ain’t it? Pfst! One Dutchman here
Make dot court sauer kraut next year."

Ay ban long times dees contra har."
Swan Swanson said, ‘Bout femteen yar.
Work avara day an’ make no harm,
Now ma wife say : 'Swan, you be fool,
An’ vote for dees republikan
Who steal it all away agan.’
Now when she hear ‘em all gon free,
Bound too, she make et hot for me.

Then up spoke Irish Pat McGuire,
His very brogue ablaze with ire :—
"It’s sold, the country is—it’s sold
To bondholders and bags o’ gold;
The boys that sleeps beneath the bay
Drowned for a Spanish holiday.—
Ireland and Cuba still in chains,
Ould England laughin’ at their pains.
How long, how long shall these things be,
Land of the darin’ and the free

Mortgage Corners, Little Salt Precinct.


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