[Noble Sons of Canardie]

Come all you loyal Britons I pray you lend an ear,
Draw up your loyal forces and then your volunteers,
Oh we’re going to fight those Yankee boys, by water and by land,
And we never will return till we conquer swords in hand—
Oh ye noble sons of Canardie,
Come to arms, boys, come!

Oh I’d rather fight the biggest fleet that ever crossed the seas,
Than twenty of those Yankee boys behind their stumps and trees,
For from every [fence-ed?] corner and from every tree and stump,
Oh the cursed sons of bitches and it’s every Yankee jump
Oh we’ve got too far from Canardie,
Run for life, boys, run!

The Old ’76 they’re marching forth, on their crutches they do lean,
With their rifles leveled at us with their specs they take good aim,
And you know there’s no retreat for those who’d rather die than run,
And I make no doubt that these are those that conquered John Burgoyne.
Oh we’ve got too far from Canardie,
Run for life, boys, run!