Song for a Cold Water Army



Transcription of Primary Source

Tune — “Yankee Doodle”

Cold water is the drink for me,
Of all the drinks, the best sir;
Your grog, of whate’er name it be
I dare not for to taste, sir.

Give me dame nature’s only drink,
And I can make it do, sir;
Then what care I what other think,—
The best that ever grew, sir.

Your artificial drinks are made,
The appetite to please, sir,
And help along the honest (?) trade,
Of those who live at ease, sir.

Your logwood wine is very fine,
I think they call it “Port,” sir;
You’ll know it by this certain sign,
Its roughness in the throat, sir,

’Tis true that yankees are most shrewd,
And wooden nutmegs make, sir;
But who’d have thought Port wine was brew’d
This side the big salt lake, sir.

We need not send to Portugal,
Nor go to good old Spain, sir;
The best of wine is at our call,
Port, Lisbon, or Champaigne, sir.

They’ll make us any kind we choose,
Without the aid of grape, sir;
And when ’tis done, will not refuse
A price to make it take, sir.

Some love to swig New England rum,
And some do Cider choose, sir;
But, so they only make “drunk come,”
No matter what they use, sir.

But I’ll not touch the poisonous stuff,
Since all the brooks are free, sir;
Give me cold water, ‘tis enough,
That cannot injure me, sir.

Curator Notes

Exact Title: 
Cold Water Melodies, and Washingtonian Songster, The
Theodore Abbot
Place of Publication: 
Boston, Massachusetts
Old Sturbridge Village
Catalog Code: 
784 C67