Post by Deleted on Aug 14, 2017 11:54:23 GMT -5
Here's a new one. Written a small cotton farmer in the Georgia Militia during the time of Sherman's Savannah Campaign (AKA the March to the Sea) and comes to the realization he's fighting to uphold an economic and social system that he doesn't benefit that much from. Don't know if any of them actually felt that way, but I'm thinking that after seeing some of the blood and gore they did, a few had to wonder what the hell they were fighting for.
[youtube]
m.youtube.com/watch?v=2iAGuZXMtNE
[/youtube]
Lyrics:
Irwinton
© 2017 by David Hanners
Sherman left Atlanta with the 1st Alabama Cavalry
Up Decatur Road marching to the sea
Burned railroads, mills and houses, anything they couldn’t eat
Can’t say we’d do different were we not in defeat
My farm outside of Irwinton is all that I had
It’s where my thoughts retreated when shot rained overhead
Laid waste to our homes, set cotton gins aflame
Charred souvenirs of Sherman’s Savannah Campaign
General Smith said we’d give the Federals their due
We were no match for their Spencers and their Henrys, too
Griswoldville was nothing but a harvest of death
At night young and old alike desert without a breath
Atlanta lay in ruins, Savannah fell without a shot
Nobody’s told me yet what this war’s about
Dandies bring the Africans to work their land for free
Those same wealthy men never did a thing for me
This soil was my life, it's where you’ll bury me
I would defend it from any enemy
Parlor soldiers get the glory, we just get the gore
Smith can have his damn militia; he’ll not see me anymore
[youtube]
m.youtube.com/watch?v=2iAGuZXMtNE
[/youtube]
Lyrics:
Irwinton
© 2017 by David Hanners
Sherman left Atlanta with the 1st Alabama Cavalry
Up Decatur Road marching to the sea
Burned railroads, mills and houses, anything they couldn’t eat
Can’t say we’d do different were we not in defeat
My farm outside of Irwinton is all that I had
It’s where my thoughts retreated when shot rained overhead
Laid waste to our homes, set cotton gins aflame
Charred souvenirs of Sherman’s Savannah Campaign
General Smith said we’d give the Federals their due
We were no match for their Spencers and their Henrys, too
Griswoldville was nothing but a harvest of death
At night young and old alike desert without a breath
Atlanta lay in ruins, Savannah fell without a shot
Nobody’s told me yet what this war’s about
Dandies bring the Africans to work their land for free
Those same wealthy men never did a thing for me
This soil was my life, it's where you’ll bury me
I would defend it from any enemy
Parlor soldiers get the glory, we just get the gore
Smith can have his damn militia; he’ll not see me anymore