Battlefield of Love
Follow, follow me, hurry right away
back to the tent, don't delay--
I know a Southern gent like me,
must say to such a pretty girl - please;
your porcelain skin, dark red hair tease,
brown freckles that never stain
on the battlefield of your temper slain--
your love of the Stars and Bars,
so hurry, hurry under the stars;
not so far away, twinkle of your eyes.
Why the delay, my pretty dear,
tell your daddy not to fear--
never worry, this war won't leave tears.
I will be waiting for you here,
so hurry, hurry right away;
you're in good hands my love, don't delay.