The House That Jeff Built

This is the House that Jeff built.  

This is the cotton,        by rebels call’d king, 

(Tho’ call’d by loyalists no such thing)  

That lay in the house that Jeff built. 

These are field-chattels that made cotton king, 

(Tho’ call’d by loyalists no such thing)  

That lay in the house that Jeff built. 

These are the chattels, babes, mothers, and men, 

To be sold by the head, in the slave pen__ 

A part of the house that Jeff built. 

This is the thing by some call’d a man, 

Whose trade is to sell all the chattels he can. 

From yearlings to adults of life’s longest span,  

In and out of the house that Jeff built. 

These are the shackles, for slaves who suppose 

Their limbs are their own, from fingers to toes; 

And are prone to believe, say all that you can, 

That they shouldn’t be sold by that thing call’d a man; 

Whose trade is to sell all the chattels he can, 

From yearlings to adults of life’s longest span, 

In and out of the house that Jeff built. 

These buy the slaves, both male and female, 

And sell their own souls to a boss with a tail 

Who owns the small soul of that thing call’d a man;  

Whose trade is to sell all the chattels he can, 

From yearlings to adults of life’s longest span, 

In and out of the house that Jeff built. 

Here the slave breeder parts with his own flesh 

To a trader down south, in the heart of the secesh. 

Thus trader and breeder secure without fail 

The lasting attachment of him with a tail, 

Who owns the small soul of that thing call’d a man;  

Whose trade is to sell all the chattels he can, 

From yearlings to adults of life’s longest span, 

In and out of the house that Jeff built. 

This is the scourge, by some call’d the cat; 

Stout in the handle, and nine tails to that  

’Tis joyous to think that the time’s drawing near  

When the cat will no longer cause chattels to fear, 

Nor the going, going, gone of that thing call’d a man, 

Whose trade is to sell all the chattels he can 

From yearlings to adults of life’s longest span 

In and out of the house that Jeff built. 

Here the slave driver in transport applies, 

Nine tails to his victim, nor heeds her shrill cries. 

Alas that a driver with nine tails his own; 

Should be slave to a driver who owns only one:  

Albeit he owns that thing call’d a man, 

Whose trade is to sell all the chattels he can, 

From yearlings to adults of life’s longest span 

In and out of the house that Jeff built. 

Here’s the arch rebel Jeff whose infamous course 

Has bro’t rest to the pillow, and made active the hearse; 

And invoked on his head every patriots curse, 

Spread ruin, and famine, to stock the slave pen, 

And furnish employment to that thing among men 

Whose trade is to sell all the chattels he can, 

From yearlings to adults of life’s longest span 

In and out of the house that Jeff built. 

But Jeff’s infamous house is doom’d to come down. 

So says uncle Sam, and so said John Brown.__ 

With slave pen, and auction, shackles, driver, and cat, 

Together with seller, and buyer, and breeder, and that 

Most loathsome of bipeds by some call’d a man, 

Whose trade is to sell all the chattels he can, 

From yearlings to adults of life’s longest span 

In and out of the house that Jeff built.