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."