Title: The Political Race. The Fox and the Geese

Air: Dearest Maje

Written expressly for the Roxbury Taylor Club.


Come good Whigs listen to me, and some instruction learn,

While about the race of '48 I spin you a little yarn,

First on the list stood Kinderhook, that fox so shrewd and sly,

Who swore he'd win the race, or else hed know the reason why.


Oh, Matty Van! you are a used-up man,

One thing is plain, o'er this land to reign,

Again you never can.


To get a horse he tried all means his efforts could combine,

The Loco Pony threw him off, with him he could n't shine,

The gallant stout old Charger, Whig, he could n't stride, of course,

So he mounted Nag Free-Soil, who proved to be a dying horse.

Oh, Matty Van! c.


Wind-galled and spavined, blind and lame, his charger proved to be,

Could neither trot, nor canter, pace, nor gallop, as you see,

But he kind of hobbled backwards, till at last with much ado,

He backed into Salt River, and he carried Matty too.

Oh, Matty Van! c.


The Loco Pony trotted on, tho' his gait was awful slow,

Upon his back, as riders, bore Cass, Butler, Polk Co.,

But the famed Proviso tripped him up, he stumbled and was cast,

Pitched off his riders, broke his neck, and coolly breathed his last.


Oh, Lewis Cass! you stultified old ass,

That you will set in the chair, I'll bet,

Will never come to pass.


But the stout Whig charger took the lead, and nobly kept before,

And his gallant rider, honest Zach. safe to the goal he bore,

All competitors he distanced, and handsomely and fair

He won the race and took the prize, the Presidential chair.


Oh, honest Zach.! your cause we'll stoutly back,

With sturdy knocks, at the ballot box,

Your Loco foes we'll whack.