DE COTTON DOWN IN DIXIE.

These capital verses were found [written?] on board of the English barque Premier, in January, 1863, bound from Liverpool to Havana, sixty miles west of Madeira, by Lone Star, of Galveston, Texas.

I’m gwine back to de land of cotton,
Wid de “English Flag” in an “English bottom,”
Far away, far away, far away;
Kase dere I’m safe from Uncle Sam,
And he can’t make me contraban’,
In de land, in de land, in de land,
Away down South in Dixie.

Chorus.—O, in Dixie land I’ll take my stand,
And live and die in Dixie land;
Hoe away, hoe away, hoe away,
De cotton down in Dixie.

Nor confiscate me for his use,
To black and clean his sojers’ shoes,
Far away, etc.,
To “dig his trenches” and save his health,
For a picayune a day and find myself,
Far away, far away, far away,
From de cotton land of Dixie.
Chorus.

O, I’m gwine back to de old plantations,
To tell de boys ob my observations,
Far away, etc.,
Made by myself in de British nation—
I’ll tell de trufe widout “sensation,”
Far away, etc.
Chorus.

I’ve been across de Atlantic Ocean,
Where dey all do make so great commotion,
Far away, etc.,
About de war and cotton “famine,”
Dey talk a heap of “twaddle and gammon,”
Far away, etc.
Chorus.

For in dis English land I’ve bin in,
Dey’ve got no cotton for de spinnin’,
Hard times, etc.,
For de warehousemen of Manchester,
De spinners, too, of Lancashire,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.

Some say, “Make muslin widout cotton,”
Others, “O no, ’twill be too rotten;”
Talk away, etc.,
Some say, “From India we’ll get plenty,
From Egypt, Greenland and Ashantee,”
Far away, etc.
Chorus.

Dey’se holdin’ meetin’s night and day,
To find out soon some oder way,
Some way, etc.,
To git dere cotton widout you,
But dat’s a fac’ dey’ll nebber do,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.

For it will take six million bales
For de mills ob England, Scotland, Wales,
Spin away, etc.,
To feed de spinnin’ mules and jennies,
Dere boys and gals and pickaninnies,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.

Now dis will take a time so long,
’Twill be like de horse in de ole man’s song’,
Sing away, etc.,
Dat he learned to lib widout corn or hay,
But he went dead dat berry same day,
Right away, etc.
Chorus.

O gemmen ob de “Supply Association,”
I’ll tell you ob de “New-born Nation,”
Far away, etc.,
De Confederate States of America,
Where cotton grows both night and day,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.

For we can grow de cotton-wool,
For John Crapeau and Johnny Bull,
“Parley voo,” etc.,
An’ dey will feed and keep de workies,
“White weaver folk,” and “hoe in darkies,”
Quite right, etc.
Chorus.

O I’se gwine back to de land ob cotton,
Sea Island seed and sandy bottom,
Far away, etc.,
To de bressed land whar I was born,
De land of sugar, cotton and corn,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.