John Haralson, John Haralson—you are a funny creature;
You’ve given to this cruel war a new and useful feature.
You’d have us think, while every man is bound to be a fighter,
The women, bless the pretty dears, should be put to making nitre.
John Haralson, John Haralson, how could you get the notion,
To send your barrel ‘round the town to gather up the lotion?
We think the girls do work enough in giving love and kissing,
But you have put the pretty dears to Patriotic...I can't say that word. (Pissing).
John Haralson, John Haralson, could you not invent a neater,
Or some less immodest mode of making your saltpetre.
The thing it is queer, you know, gunpowder like the cranky
That when a lady lifts her skirts, she shoots another Yankee.