Rebellion is my theme all day;
I only wish ‘twould come
(As who knows but perhaps it may?)
A little nearer home.
Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight
On t’other side the Atlantic,
I always held them in the right,
But most so when most frantic.
When lawless mobs insult the court,
That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,
Who bravely breaks the most.
But O! for him my fancy culls
The choicest flowers she bears,
Who constitutionally pulls
Your house about your ears.
Such civil broils are my delight,
Though some folks can’t endure them,
Who say the mob are mad outright,
And that a rope must cure them.
A rope! I wish we patriots had
Such strings for all who need ‘em—
What! hang a man for going mad!
Then farewell British freedom.