Here it is:
"There was an ancient individual whose cognomen was Uncle Edward.
He departed this life long since, long since.
He had no capillary substance on the top of his cranium,
The place where the capillary substance ought to vegetate.
His digits were as long as the bamboo piscatorial implement of the
Southern Mississippi.
He had no oculars to observe the beauties of nature.
He had no ossified formation to masticate his daily rations,
So he had to let his daily rations pass by with impunity."
Walker Coleman raises the tune of "I'se a gwine to jine the rebel band,
a fightin' for my home."
Now, reader, the above is all I can now remember of that very beautiful
and soul-stirring air. But the boys would wake up and step quicker and
livelier for some time, and Arthur Fulghum would holloa out, "All right;
go ahead!" and then would toot! toot! as if the cars were starting--
puff! puff! puff and then he would say, "Tickets, gentlemen; tickets,
gentlemen." like he was conductor on a train of cars. This little
episode would be over, and then would commence the same tramp, tramp,
tramp, all night long. Step by step, step by step, we continued to plod
and nod and stagger and march, tramp, tramp, tramp.
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