Election Songs

Air: Derry Down

John Tyler, John Tyler, this moment we've heard,
And not without pain, of your veto the third;
We pity a man's first offence, while we blame;
But a man who thrice errs, no compassion can claim.

When you found yourself, John, in the President's chair,
You might Well be amazed how the de'il you got there;
You your poverty saw, ana you caught at the veto—
It might magnify somewhat a very small potato.

'Twas a hobby, this Veto, so pleasant to ride,
That mount it you must, though the devil betide;
Nay, John, e'en your friends at your folly will jest,
And whisper,—"this hobby's an ass at the best!"

By all parties you're scorned as abase renegade,
Who your own, and your friends' honest hopes have betrayed;
They will make of you, John, a convenient tool,
For the rest of the term of your President-rule.

But presume not too much, John; what accident brought,
By a second good hap's not so easily caught;
If you think that a second snug term may be snatched,
You may reckon your chickens before they are hatched.

Then mark what I say, John, your vetoes and all
Won't hinder presumption from getting a fall:
There's a proverb about " the two stools," so beware—
There's no sitting between them: John, John, havo a care!

And as to your hint, John, thrown out so off-hand,
That " the thing may as yet become law of the land,
If two-thirds of the house should agreed be about it;"
No thanks, John, for that — they can do so without it.

And we call on them, John, as they love the dear earth
That gave them and their own "god-like ancestors" birth,
To come up to the scratch, and indignant efface
The opprobrium your veto would fix on their race.