The tyrant’s broad pennant is floating
In the South, o’er our waters so blue:
On our homes now his foul eye is gloating;
The homes of the brave and the true.

Chorus.—But our flag at the “head of the Passes,”
Is borne by men brave and true;
We will teach them to fear our “Manassas;”
Three cheers for our Red, White, and Blue.

We will give his proud fleet such a greeting
As the storm-cloud’s shaft to the tree;
As the rock to the wave in their meeting—
Is the stroke of the brave and the free.

Though his minions may come as the locust,
And outnumber the sands of the sea,
Their numbers will serve to provoke us,
To dare, to die, or live free.

Every breeze from the “Crescent” is laden
With defiance to the despot on our shore;
Strong men, the child, and each maiden,
Join in chorus with the cannon’s loud roar.