He had a hatchet—little George—
A hatchet bright and new,
And sharp enough to cut a stick—
A little stick—in two.
He hacked and whacked and whacked and hacked,
This sturdy little man;
He hacked a log and hacked a fence,
As round about he ran.
He hacked his father's cherry tree
And made an ugly spot;
The bark was soft, the hatchet sharp,
And little George forgot.
You know the rest. The father frowned
And asked the reason why;
You know the good old story runs
He could not tell a lie.
The boy that chopped that cherry tree
Soon grew to be a youth;
At work and books he hacked away,
And still he told the truth:
The youth became a famous man,
Above six feet in height,
And when he had good work to do
He hacked with all his might.
He fought the armies that the king
Had sent across the sea;
He battled up and down the land
To set his country free.
For seven long years he hacked and whacked
With all his might and main
Until the British sailed away
And did not come again.