by Edmund Vance Cooke
Aye, lads, aye, we fought 'em,
And we sent 'em to the bottom,
And you'll say that I'm a-talkin' like a silly;
I hear your cheers and jokes,
But, lads, them's human folks
What is soakin' in the water off Manilly.
Aye, lads, and when we shot
It's just as like as not
We hit some mother's heart in old Granady.
She did n't sink no Maine,
'Way over there in Spain,
But she won't never see her laddy's body.
I kin see a black-eyed gal,
Somethin' like my little Sal,
What is cryin' out her eyes in old Sevilly;
There's a widow in Madrid
With a pore little kid,
And his daddy has went down off Manilly.
Aye, lads, aye, we fought 'em,
And we sent 'em to the bottom.
And I hopes you won't be thinkin' I'm a booby,
But that little black-eyed gal,
What reminds me so of Sal.
She did n't never do no harm to Cuby.
And if instead of Sanchy,
It had been “the hated Yankee,”
Which you know, my lads, is me and Jack, and Billy,
You know who would be cryin'
For us fellers, what was dyin'
And a-soakin' in the water off Manilly.
Last updated September 22, 2022