I 'm willin' a man should go tollable strong Agin wrong in the abstract, fer that kind o' wrong Is ollers unpop'lar an' never gits pitied, Because it 's a crime no one never committed; But he mus' n't be hard on partickler sins, Coz then he 'll be kickin' the people's own shins; On'y look at the Demmercrats, see wut they 've done Jest simply by stickin' together like fun; They 've sucked us right into a mis'able war Thet no one on airth aint responsible for; They 've run us a hundred cool millions in debt, (An' fer Demmercrat Horners ther 's good plums left yet); They talk agin tayriffs, but act fer a high one, An' so coax all parties to build up their Zion; To the people they 're ollers ez slick ez molasses, An' butter their bread on both sides with The Masses, Half o' whom they 've persuaded, by way of a joke, Thet Washinton's mantelpiece fell upon Polk. Now all o' these blessins the Wigs might enjoy, Ef they 'd gumption enough the right means to imploy;[14] Fer the silver spoon born in Dermocracy's mouth Is a kind of a scringe thet they hev to the South; Their masters can cuss 'em an' kick 'em an' wale 'em, An' they notice it less 'an the ass did to Balaam; In this way they screw into second-rate offices Wich the slaveholder thinks 'ould substract too much off his ease; The file-leaders, I mean, du, fer they, by their wiles, Unlike the old viper, grow fat on their files. Wal, the Wigs hev been tryin' to grab all this prey frum 'em An' to hook this nice spoon o' good fortin' away frum 'em, An' they might ha' succeeded, ez likely ez not, In lickin' the Demmercrats all round the lot, Ef it warn't thet, wile all faithful Wigs were their knees on, Some stuffy old codger would holler out,--"Treason! You must keep a sharp eye on a dog thet hez bit you once, An' _I_ aint agoin' to cheat my constitoounts,"-- Wen every fool knows thet a man represents Not the fellers thet sent him, but them on the fence,-- Impartially ready to jump either side An' make the fust use of a turn o' the tide,-- The waiters on Providunce here in the city, Who compose wut they call a State Centerl Committy. Constitoounts air hendy to help a man in, But arterwards don't weigh the heft of a pin. Wy, the people can't all live on Uncle Sam's pus, So they 've nothin' to du with 't fer better or wus; It 's the folks thet air kind o' brought up to depend on 't That hev any consarn in 't, an' thet is the end on 't.