The Deerborn Independant
To the tune of “Say, Brothers, Will You Meet Us”
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the making of the Ford!
He went out there to Arche and invited her on board.
He wished he was to dancing as the Khan was to the Sword:
All the things he knew are gone!
Glory, Glory, etc..
Except, I meant to say, that which we know will always* be here:
The thunder, eyes of State, the het-ro-dox, and, yes, the queer,
The bug that travels to the brain on open* canals of ears:
The rest we knew is gone!
Glory, Glory, etc..
The men who write the fact’ries, build the laws, and hire the crew
Will find that they destroyed that what their poor minds had in view,
And some will seek to shape the world on what they thought was new,
But what they wanted* is gone!
Glory, Glory, etc..
And when, on the horizon, I’ll the last time rouse from bed
And see that my old landlord’s come a-knockin’ for my head,
I’ll holler for the children, tell them “run and get the reds!”
But they’ve since all marched along!
Glory, Glory, etc..