Why come ye hither, Redcoats
Your mind what madness fills?
In our valleys there is danger
And there's danger on our hills
Oh, hear ye not the singing of
The bugle wild and free?
And soon you'll know the ringing of
The rifle from the tree

Oh, the rifle, oh, the rifle
In our hands will prove no trifle
Oh, the rifle, oh, the rifle
In our hands will prove no trifle

Tell he who stays at home
Or cross the briny waters
That thither ye must come like
Bullocks to thе slaughter
When you'll meet our Mountain Boys
And their lеader Johnny Stark
Lads who make but little noise
But who always hit the mark
Oh, the rifle, oh, the rifle
In our hands will prove no trifle
Oh, the rifle, oh, the rifle
In our hands will prove no trifle

Ye ride a goodly steed
Ye may know another master
Ye forward came with speed
But you'll learn to back much faster
If we the work must do, why
The sooner 'tis begun
If flint and trigger hold but true
The sooner 'twill be done

Oh, the rifle, oh, the rifle
In our hands will prove no trifle
Oh, the rifle, oh, the rifle
In our hands will prove no trifle

Oh, the rifle, oh, the rifle
In our hands will prove no trifle
Oh, the rifle, oh, the rifle
In our hands will prove no trifle

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Downtown Music Publishing
Writer(s): Elizabeth Cotten