Then hail, dear Columbia, the land that we love, Where flourishes Liberty’s tree; The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home, ’Tis the land, ’tis the land of the free! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home, ’Tis the land, ’tis the land of the free! Root Hog or Die. 38 I’ll tell you of a story that happened long ago, When the English came to America, I s’pose you all do know, They couldn’t whip the Yankees, I’ll tell you the reason why, Uncle Sam made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die. John Bull sent to Boston, as you shall plainly see, Forty large ships loaded clear up with tea; The Yankees wouldn’t pay the tax, I’ll tell the reason why, The Yankee boys made em sing, Root Hog or Die, They first met our armies on the top of Bunker Hill, When it came to fighting, I guess they got their fill; The Yankee boys chased them off, I’ll tell you the reason why, The Yankee boys made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die. Then they met our Washington at Yorktown, There the Yankees mow’d ’em down, like grass from the ground; Old Cornwallis gave up his sword, I’ll tell you the reason why, General Washington made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die. Then they came to Baltimore forty years ago, They tried to take North Point, but found it wouldn’t go; The Baltimoreans chased them off, I’ll tell the reason why The Yankee boys made ’em sing Root Hog or Die. Then they march’d their arms down to New Orleans, That was the place, I think, that Jackson gave ’em beans; They couldn’t take our cotton bales, I’ll tell the reason why, General Jackson made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die. Now Johnny Bull has been kicking up a fuss, He’d better keep quiet or he’ll surely make it worse, We’re bound to have Cuba, I’ll tell you the reason why, For Uncle Sam will make ’em sing, Root Hog or Die. Root Hog or Die, 39 No. 2. The greatest old nigger that ever I did see, Look’d like a sick monkey up a sour apple-tree; It don’t make a bit of difference to either you or I Big pig, little pig, root hog or die. CHORUS. Chief cook and bottle washer, captain of the waiters, Stand upon your head while you peel a bag of taters. Jog along. I come from old Virginny with a pocket-full of news I am worth four shillings, standing in my shoes; Doesn’t make a bit of difference to either you or I, Little pig, big pig, root hog or die. Chief cook, &c. The Broadway niggers look so mighty grand, Shanghai coats and gloves upon the hand, A big standing collar, standing away up to the sky, Little pig, big pig, root hog or die. Chief cook, &c.