On the eighteenth of April, in 'seventy-four
He galloped to every farmhouse door
And gathered up every marrow fair
That the evil British had hidden there!

Then he took them all, and with some of his friends
Hauled them away to the old East End
Where Boston Harbour laps the pier
Twelve tons of marrow disappeared.

Then he said good night, and with muffled oar,
Rowed across to the Charleston shore
And stopped at a tavern, ordered a brew,
And passed on this tale, as I pass it to you!