I was born 'way down in "Dixie,"
Reared beneath the Southern skies, And they didn't have to teach me Every "Yankee" to despise.
I was but a country youngster When I donned a suit of gray, When I shouldered my old musket, And marched forth the "Yanks" to slay.
Four long years I fought and suffered, "Dixie" was my battle cry;
"Dixie" always and forever, Down in "Dixie" let me die.
And to-night I'm down in "Dixie,"
"Dixie" still so grand and true;
But to-night I am appareled In a uniform of blue.
And to-night the band is playing;
'Tis not "Dixie's" strains I hear, But the strains of "Yankee Doodle" Ring out strong and clear.
Long I listen to the music;
By my side a comrade stands;
He's a "Yank" and I'm a "Rebel,"
But we grasp each other's hands.
Here together we united 'Way down South in "Dixie" stand, And my comrade whispers softly, "There's no land like 'Dixie's land.' "
But my eyes are filled with teardrops, Tears that make my heart feel glad;
And I whisper to my comrade:
" 'Yankee Doodle' ain't so bad."
