At Donelson the rebel horde
Had gathered in their might,
Determined there with fire and sword
To make a dreadful fight.
But gallant Foote, with his command
Swept “in” by water route,
While Grant besieged upon the land,
And smoked the rebels “out.”
Where volleyed thunder loudest pealed,
Along the front of war,
The Gen’ral calmly viewed the field,
A smoking his cigar.
And Beauregard did swear, methinks,
Upon his bended knee,
That his good horse should have some drinks,
All from the Tennessee;
But oh! a “dip twixt cup and lip”
That sweet illusion broke;
For Grant just smote ’em thigh and hip,
And made the rebels smoke.
The doughty Pem, at Vicksburg, too,
Did naught of Yankees fear;
Grant passed his guns in quick review
And gained the city’s rear.
He pitched his tent, deployed his force
And lighted his cigar,Said he, “Misguided lads, of course,
You know just where you are.”
And now, let politicans wait
There’s work for men to do;
We’ll place one in the Chair of State
Who wears the army blue.
The people know just what they want
LESS TALK, and no more war
For PRESIDENT, ULYSSES GRANT
A-SMOKING HIS CIGAR!
This poem was written as a campaign song for General Grant