That Same Old Coon.

43

By J. Boughton.
TUNE — "The Mellow Horn."

When fierce corruption brooded o'er
Our land with withering blight,
And Freedom's light, that burn'd of yore,
Was wrapped in darkest night —
'Twas then that slumb'ring whigs awoke
To guard the sacred boon,
And deep avenging notes that spoke,
Aroused "that same Old Coon."
That same Old Coon —
That same old patriotic Coon.

When Matty, with usurping hand,
The Nation's neck had wrung,
And all the Loco-Foco band
Hozannas to him sung —
'Twas then Old Tip, with speed of wind.
Outrun the base poltroon —
While none with keener triumph grinn'd
Than did "that same Old Coon."
That same Old Coon —
That same old patriotic Coon.

What makes the Locos quake with fear,
And faint with very dread;
And whence does spring the frequent tear,
Which they're constrained to shed?
It is because they hear again
Old Eighteen forty's tune,
And formost in that great campaign,
They see "that same Old Coon.
That same Old Coon —
That same old patriotic Coon.

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As does the sunset west, that shines,
Fortell a brilliant day —
So do the bright, auspicious signs,
All point to Henry Clay!
Then let us with the lark upspring,
Nor tarry when 'tis noon,
But with united effort cling
Around "that same old coon."
That same Old Coon —
That same old patriotic Coon.