I said, "Your old flagpole is leaning a little bit,
And that's a ragged old flag you've got hanging on it."
He said, "Have a seat," and I sat down.
"This must be your first visit to our little town."
"Well," he said, "I don't like to brag,
But we're kinda proud of that ragged old flag.
You see, we got a hole in that old flag there
When Washington took it across the Delaware.
And it got powder burns the night Francis Scott Key
Sat watching it, writing, 'Oh, say can you see.'
And it got a bad rip in New Orleans
When Packingham and Jackson took it on the scene.
She got cut with a sword at Chancelorville,
And she got cut again at Shilo Hill.
The south wind blew hard on that ragged old flag,
And it almost fell at the Alamo beside the Texas flag.
On Flanders Field in World War One,
She got a big hole from a Bertha gun.
She turned blood red in World War Two,
And she hung limp and low a time or two.
She was in Korea and Vietnam,
She went where she was sent by her Uncle Sam.
She waved from our ships upon the briny foam,
Now they've just about quit waving her back here at home.
In our good land here she's been abused.
She's been burned, dishonored, denied, refused.
And the government for which she stands
Is scandalized throughout our lands.
She's getting threadbare, and she's wearing thin.
But she's in good shape for the shape she's in.
She's been through the fire before,
And I believe she can take a whole lot more.
So we raise her up each morning and take her down each night,
We don't let her touch the ground and we fold her up right.
On second thought, I do like to brag,
Because, I'm mighty proud of that Ragged Old Flag!"
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