To the Friends at Home.
From a U.S. Soldier.
U.S Army Song.
"Good Times in the Army[,] Boys" (1863)
Words by W. H. Watson.
Music by C. M. C.

Cincinatti, OH: John Church, Jr., 66 West 4th St.
[Source: 090/089@Levy]

1.
I'm a jolly young soldier, the truth I will tell;
  I'll die for the lassie that bade me farewell,
And gave me a kiss, so fervant and true,
  When I left her to fight for the red, white and blue.

CHORUS [sung after each verse]
And it's good times, good times in the army, I say.
And it's good times, good times in the army, I say.

2.
Our Uncle and Father, "Samuel and Abe"
  Are farm-ers by nature, and "Yankees" by trade,
Know just what we need, in clothing and food,
  And furnish us plenty, and that which is good.

3.
I know that the "grumbler", no soldier is he,
  Complains of our clothing most bitterly;
And writes doleful letters, set his friends in despair,
  A-bout noth-ing to eat and noth-ing to wear.

4.
Our tents they are healthy, we breathe the fresh air;
  We sleep, oh! so sweetly, free from all care,
And dreams of our homes, all mirrored so bright,
  In visions of splendor, our hearts to delight.

5.
Our drilling and marching, is excercise good,
  It gives us a relish for all kinds of food;
Crackers are pound-cakes, fat pork is veal,
  And coffee, Catawba, tobacco we steal.

6.
To sum up the whole, we've plenty to eat;
  Plenty to wear, from our heads to our feet
And he who complains of clothing and grub,
  Should be sent to his ma'ma, and nicked "little bub".

7.
There are some that want money, complain every day
  And swear they'll "desert" if they don't get their pay,
But the good union soldier thinks "Sam's" a good debtor,
  And will fight without pay, if he can-not do better.

8.
But I tell you the truth, should the Paymaster come
  T'would be joy to the heart of Uncle Sam's son;
For money, you know has a right pretty look,
  And nothing's so charming as a full pocket book.

9.
The "Copperheads" North, are trying to bite,
  Traitors, and Cowards! they never would fight.
But like their vile namesake, steal up in the rear,
  And strike and retreat, and run like the deer.

10.
But never mind, boys, in a very brief space,
  We'll whip out the re-bels, then "right-about face,"
And march to our homes, t'will be mighty queer
  If we don't soon dry up "the fire in the rear."