Lord Roadapple Has gone to war A legend in the making His sword and musket He has girded on Our land to save from taking. "Majesty! Please so not lose hope!" He cried while buttering His corn with soap " The Yanks in me Shall find no average dope As the bullet's 'Round me are snaking." As water boy At fortress Ty He followed safely at a distance He took a flag At Freeman's Farm Long after any armed resistance At Stanwix Fort He swung hard and free Dismenb'ring slowly That Fort's Christmas tree And on Newtown's land with ice cream in hand He ran off And has not been seen since. Lord Roadapple He is not around No longer with the Yankees fighting His sword and musket Have been thrown to ground The great wrongs No longer felt like righting "Sorry King 'Twas not my thing" He said as Snowy winter turned to spring "I thought it best To just let Freedom ring So that I could Get on with my writing."