At Chickahominy, Gains’ Mill and Old Oak Grove,
on the back of a great whiter charger he rode through gray clouds of cannon smoke and a rain of mini balls
Over the chill of the mighty Rebel yell…Robert E…Robert E….they cried
for those marching souls in gray, that name lives on today
For Dixieland and that great man, all took a bloody last stand
And to the tune of the day, fought and died for the Confederate Gray
Robert E…Robert E…they cried and to that dying mass, that name brought dignity,
for the end was sure at last
Robert E…Robert E…they cried, clear across that crimson battle-line for those victors
in blue that name rang true, a sense of fear and hidden respect for a man so revered
