Who are the men that clamor most
Against the war, its cause and cost,
And who Jeff Davis sometimes toast?
Who, when by wretched whiskey tight,
Hiss out in rage their venomed spite,
Who crawl and sting, but never fight?
Who hold peace meetings, where they pass
Lengthy resolves of wind and gas,
Much like the bray of Balaam's ass?
Who, when false faction is forgot,
When patriots keep a common thought,
Have discord and dissension taught?
Who swear by bondage, and would see
Rather their country lost than free,
Who dread the name of Liberty?
Who hate a freedom-loving press,
The truth, and all who it profess,
Who don't believe in our success?
And who, when Right has won the day,
Will take their slimy selves away,
And in their dirty holes will stay?
And who will be the hiss and scorn
Of generations yet unborn,
Hated, despised, disgraced, forlorn?
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