VICKSBURG SONG.

By Capt. J. W. A. Wright.

Air—“A Life on the Ocean Wave.”

A life on the Vicksburg bluff,
A home in the trenches deep,
Where we dodge “Yank” shells enough—
And our old “pea-bread” won’t keep.
On “Old Logan’s” beef I pine,
For there’s fat on his bones no more;
Oh! give me some pork in brine,
And “truck” from a sutler’s store.

Chorus.—A life on the Vicksburg bluff,
A home in the trenches deep,
Where we dodge “Yank” shells enough—
And our old “pea-bread” won’t keep,
Pea-bread, pea-bread, pea-bread;
Our old pea-bread won’t keep.

 

Old Grant is starving us out,
Our grub is fast wasting away,
Pemb don’t know what he’s about,
And he hasn’t for many a day.
So we’ll bury “Old Logan” to-night,
From tough beef we’ll be set free;
We’ll put him far out of sight—
No more of his meat for me.
Chorus.

Texas “steers” are no longer in view,
Mule steaks are now “done up brown,”
While “pea-bread,” mule roast, and mule stew,
Are our fare in old Vicksburg town.
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the “Yanks” and their gunboats rave,
A life in “bomb-proofs” for me,
And a tear o’er “Old Logan’s” grave.
Chorus.