作曲 : Traditional Song
 Oh soldiers, I’ve concluded to make a little song,
 And if I tell no falsehood there can be nothing wrong,
 If any be offended at what I have to sing,
 Then surely his own conscience applies the bitter sting.
 Oh, how do you like the Army
 The brass-mounted Army,
 The high-falutin’ Army,
 Where eagle buttons rule?
 Whisky is a monster, and ruins great and small,
 But in our noble Army, Headquarters gets it all;
 They drink it when there’s danger, although it seems too hard,
 But if a private touches it, they put him “under guard.”
 Oh, how do you like the army,
 The brass-mounted army,
 The high-fallutin' army,
 Where eagle buttons rule?
 The Army’s now much richer than when the war begun,
 It furnishes three tables where once it had but one;
 The first is richly loaded with chickens, goose, and duck,
 The nest with pork and mutton, the third with good old buck.
 Oh, how do you like the army,
 The brass-mounted army,
 The high-fallutin' army,
 Where eagle buttons rule?
 Our generals eat the poultry, and buy it very cheap,
 Our colonels and our majors devour the hog and sheep;
 The privates are contented (except when they can steal),
 With beef and corn bread plenty to make a hearty meal.
 Oh, how do you like the army,
 The brass-mounted army,
 The high-fallutin' army,
 Where eagle buttons rule?
 Sometimes we git so hungry, we're bound to press a pig;
 Then the larggest stump in Dixie we're sure to have to dig.
 And when we fret, an officer who wears long legged boots
 With neither judge nor jury, puts us on “double roots.”
 Oh, how do you like the army,
 The brass-mounted army,
 The high-fallutin' army,
 Where eagle buttons rule?
 These things and many others are truely hard to me
 But still I’ll be contented, and fight for Liberty!
 And when the war is over, oh what a jolly time!
 We’ll be our own commanders and sing much sweeter rhymes.
 Oh, how do you like the army, the brass-mounted army,
 The high-fallutin' army, where eagle buttons rule?
 We’ll see our loving sweethearts, and sometimes kiss them, too,
 We’ll eat the finest rations, and bid old buck adieu,
 There’ll be no generals with orders to compel,
 Long boots and eagle buttons, forever fare ye well!
 And thus we’ll leave the Army,
 The brass-mounted Army,
 The high-falutin’ Army,
 Where eagle buttons rule.