Lyr. Add: SONG OF THEE CONVALESCENT CAMP
Air: Root Hog or Die. Camp near Alexandria, VA; 1860s

Pray give me your attention, until I sing a song,
It's all about the convalescents, and I won't detain you long,
They are from every State and County, from every City too,
They are of every color, but the most of us true blue.
2
The most of us are Veterans of many a hard fought field,
But to our wounds and sickness we have been compelled to yield,
They have stuck us in the mud-hole to wear our lives away,
O Lord, had I but shoulder straps how quick I'd be away.
3
We are a jolly set of fellows as ever you did see,
But would feel a great deal better if we were only free,
We're in Uncle Sam's clutches, and he's got an awful grip,
There's been more than one amongst us that has given him the slip.
4
They feed us here on swine flesh until we grunt and squeal,
We are getting fat as shingles on government square meals,
We are drummed out in the morning and we are drummed to bed at night,
And it's truly our opinion it ain't exactly right.
5
We have a great big Sutler's shop, but we haven't any dust,
His motto is "No East, no West, no North, no South, no Trust,"
We'd drown our troubles if we could, but whiskey can't be found,
And every bottle in the camp gives out a hollow sound.
6
All of us have quit chewing, for tobacco can't be had,
And smoking is quite played out, which makes it mighty bad,
We wander round the camp all day, not knowing what to do,
With our pockets full of nothing, while our hearts are full of woe.
7
But the worst of our troubles, to you I will relate,
It's the lice, the worst of vermin, are chasing us for bate,
I hate to speak about it, for it makes me crawl and itch,
The cursed little vermin will let us have no sleep.
8
They're in our boots, they're in our clothes, they're in our every track,
They skirmish round our legs and arms, and skedaddle up our back,
It's hard to keep them off while in you there's a breath,
There's one consolation, they are almost starved to death.
9
We are guarded night and day by a lot of new recruits,
The Eleventh of Rhode Island, they treat us all like brutes,
They stand with their guns well loaded, all eager for a fray,
They keep the rebels out, but us from going away.
10
They are very patriotic you will all allow,
For they fight for five hundred and a cow,
We hope they will soon be off to fight, if they are not afraid,
For we are excepting Horace Greeley with his negro brigade.
11
So cheer up, ye convalescents, and let us drink a toast,
Fill up your cups with muddy coffee, for whiskey we can't boast,
We'll try and keep our spirits up, although we can't pour any down,
We'll try and be contented, if here it can be found.
12
Now my song is ended, I'll bid you adieu,
To all the lice be merciful, if pork and beans prove true,
We'll stick to one another, until from here we tramp,
So three cheers for the convalescents and convalescent's camp.

Printed by Johnson, Philadelphia.
Song sheet in American Memory.