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Poem by George Pope Morris
Old Cotton is king, boys--aha! With his locks so fleecy and white! He shines among kings like a star! And his is the sceptre of right, Boys, of right, And his is the sceptre of right! Old Cotton, the king, has no care, No queen, and no heir to his throne, No courtiers, his triumphs to share, He rules his dominions alone, Boys, alone! He rules his dominions alone! Old Cotton, the merry old boy!-- Like smoke from the pipe in his mouth His years glide away in their joy, At home, in the warm sunny south, Boys, the south, At home, in the warm sunny south! Old Cotton will pleasantly reign When other kings painfully fall, And ever and ever remain The mightiest monarch of all, Boys, of all, The mightiest monarch of all! Then here's to old Cotton, the king! His true loyal subjects are we: We'll laugh and we'll quaff and we'll sing, A jolly old fellow is he, Boys, is he, A jolly old fellow is he!
George Pope Morris
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