The Battle of New Orleans (8th. of January) (full version)
Written by Jimmy Driftwood




Well, in 18 and 14, we took a little trip,
Along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Missisip',
We took a little bacon and we took a little beans,
And we met the bloody British in the town of New Orleans.


We fired our guns and the British kept a comin',
There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago,
We fired once more and they began a running,
Down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.


Well, I seed Massa' Jackson come a-walkin' down the street,
And a-talkin' to a pirate by the name of Jean Lafitte,
He gave Jean a drink that he brung from Tennessee,
And the pirate said he'd help us drive the British to the sea.


Well the French told Andrew, "You had better run,
For Packenham's a'comin' with a bullet in his gun.",
Old Hickory said he didn't give a damn,
He's a-gonna whup the britches off of Colonel Packenham.


Well, we looked down the river and we seed the British come,
And there must have been a hundred of them beating on the drum,
They stepped so high and they made their bugles ring,
While we stood behind our cotton bales and didn't say a thing.


Old Hickory said we could take 'em by surprise,
If we didn't fire a musket till we looked 'em in the eyes,
We held our fire till we seed their face well,
Then we opened up our squirrel guns and really gave 'em well...


Well they ran through the briars and they ran through the brambles,
And they ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go,
They ran so fast the hounds couldn't catch 'em,
Down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.


Well we fired our cannons till the barrels melted down,
So we grabbed an alligator and we fought another round,
We filled his head with minie balls and powdered his behind,
And when we touched the powder off, the 'gator lost his mind.


They lost their pants and their pretty shiny coats,
And their tails was all a-showin' like a bunch of billy goats,
They ran down the river with their tongues a-hanging out,
And they said they got a lickin', which there wasn't any doubt.


Well we marched back to town in our dirty ragged pants,
And we danced all night with the pretty girls from France,
We couldn't understand 'em, but they had the sweetest charms,
And we understood 'em better when we got 'em in our arms.


Well, the guide who brung the British from the sea,
Come a-limping into camp just as sick as he could be,
He said the dying words of Colonel Packenham,
Was, "You better quit your foolin' with your cousin Uncle Sam."


Well, we'll march back home, but we'll never be content,
Till we make Old Hick'ry the people's president,
And every time we think about the bacon and the beans,
We'll think about the fun we had way down in New Orleans.

Page design by Lynn Lewis © - 2016 All Rites, Writes, Wrights, Rights & Wrongs Reserved