I then saw a "Tiger," from the old Crescent City, He cut down the Yankees without any pity: Oh! it don't make a diff-a-bitterence to neither you nor I, We whipped the Yankee boys, and made the boobies cry. I saw South Carolina, the first in the cause, Shake the dirty Yankees till she broke all their jaws; Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, South Carolina give 'em--boys; root, hog, or die. I saw old Virginia, standing firm and true, She fought mighty hard to whip the dirty crew; Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, Old Virginia's blood and thunder, boys; root, hog, or die. I saw old Georgia, the next in the van, She cut down the Yankees almost to a man; Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, Georgia's some in a fight, boys; root, hog, or die. I saw Alabama in the midst of the storm, She stood like a giant in the contest so warm; Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, Alabama fought the Yankees, boys, till the last one did fly. I saw Texas go in with a smile, But I tell you what it is, she made the Yankees bile; Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, Texas is the devil, boys; root, hog, or die. I saw North Carolina in the deepest of the battle, She knocked down the Yankees and made their bones rattle; Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, North Carolina's got the grit, boys; root, hog, or die. Old Florida came in with a terrible shout, She frightened all the Yankees till their eyes stuck out; Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, Florida's death on Yankees; root, hog, or die. LAND OF KING COTTON. By JO. AUGUSTINE SIGNAIGO. _Air--"Red, White and Blue."_ (This was a favorite song of the Tennessee troops, but especially of the 13th and 154th Regiments. Memphis _Appeal_, Dec. 9, 1861.) Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton, "The home of the brave and the free," A nation by freedom begotten, The terror of despots to be; Wherever thy banner is streaming, Base tyranny quails at thy feet, And liberty's sunlight is beaming, In splendor of majesty sweet. CHORUS--Three cheers for our army so true, Three cheers for Price, Johnson, and Lee: Beauregard, and our Davis forever, The pride of the brave and the free! When Liberty sounds her war-rattle, Demanding her right and her due, The first land that rallies to battle Is Dixie, the shrine of the true: Thick as leaves of the forest in Summer, Her brave sons will rise on each plain, And then strike, until each vandal comer Lies dead on the soil he would stain. CHORUS.