You can't make a song to Van Buren,
Because his long name will not do;
There's nothing about him allurin',
As there is about Tippecanoe!
He never was seen in a battle,
Where bullet and cannon shot flew;
His nerves would be shocked with the rattle
Of a contest like Tippecanoe!
While Harrison march'd to the border---
Sly Van staid at home as you know,
Afraid of the smell of gun-powder--
Then hurrah for Old Tippecanoe!
Little Matt was too tender a dandy,
To shoulder a musket and go
Where Harrison battled so handy,
As he did when at Tippecanoe;
But snug in his pretty silk stockings,
And dressed in his broadcloth all new,
He roasted his shins in a parlour--
Not fighting like Tippecanoe.
And now with his gold spoons and dishes,
He lives like a king with his crew;
He'll feast on the loaves and the fishes,
Till we put in Old Tippecanoe.