Over The Hill To The Poor-house I'm

Worm Or Beetle - Drought Or Tempest - On A Farmer's Land May Fall, Each Is Loaded Full O' Ruin, But A Mortgage Beats 'em All.

So I Have Talked With Betsey And Betsey Has Talked With Me, And We Have Agreed Together That We Can't Never Agree

Cover Them Over With Beautiful Flowers, Deck Them With Garlands, Those Brothers Of Ours, Lying So Silent By Night And By Day.

Over All Our Happy Country - Over All Our Nation Spread, Is A Band Of Noble Heroes - Is Our Army Of The Dead.

Cover Them Over With Beautiful Flowers, Deck Them With Garlands, Those Brothers Of Ours, Lying So Silent By Night And By Day Sleeping The Years Of Their Manhood Away. Give Them The Meed They Have Won In The Past; Give Them The Honors Their Future Forcast; Give Them The Chaplets They Won In The Strife; Give Them The Laurels They Lost With Their Life.