The vote, the vote, the mighty vote,
Though once we used a humbler note,
And prayed our servants to be just,
We tell the now they must, they must.
Chorus.

The tyrant's grapple, by our vote,
We'll loosen from our brother's throat,
With Washington we here agree,
The vote's the weapon of the free.
We'll scatter not the precious power
On parties that to slavery cower;
But make it one against the wrong,
Till down it comes, a million strong.
The tyrant's grapple, &c.
We'll bake the dough-face with our vote,
Who stood the scorching when we wrote;
And paler than the milky way,
We'll bake the plastic face of Clay.
The tyrant's grapple, &c.
Our vote shall teach all statesmen law,
Who in the Southern harness draw;
So well contented to be slaves,
They fain would prove their fathers knaves!
The tyrant's grapple, &c.
We'll not provoke our wives to use
A power that we through fear abuse;
His mother shall not blush to own
One voter of us for a son.
The tyrant's grapple, by our vote,
We'll loosen from our brother's throat;
With Washington we here agree,
Whose mother taught him to be free!