CROCKETT, David, (father of John Wesley Crockett), a Representative from Tennessee; born at the confluence of Limestone Creek and Noli-Chuckey River in the State of Franklin, which a few years later became Greene County, Tenn., August 17, 1786; attended the common schools for a short time; moved to Lincoln County about 1808 and to what is now Gibson County in 1822; commanded a battalion of mounted riflemen under General Jackson in the Creek campaign in 1813 and 1814; member of the State house of representatives 1821-1823; unsuccessful candidate for election in 1825 to the Nineteenth Congress; elected to the Twentieth and Twenty-first Congresses (March 4, 1827-March 3, 1831); unsuccessful candidate for reelection in 1830 to the Twenty-second Congress; elected as an Anti-Jacksonian to the Twenty-third Congress (March 4, 1833-March 3, 1835); unsuccessful candidate for reelection in 1834 to the Twenty-fourth Congress; went to Texas to aid the Texans in their struggle for independence in 1836; joined a band of 186 men in the defense of the Alamo, San Antonio de Bexar, and was among those killed in that battle which terminated on March 6, 1836; his body destroyed by pyre at the Alamo.
So far, this website from English professor from Towson University Edwin Duncan is the ONLY place that I have found this "broken English" version of Crockett's words.
These are certainly NOT the words used by the "David Crockett" in OUR version of "Not Yours to Give." What gives?"The broken fenced state o' the nation, the broken banks, broken hearts, and broken pledges o' my brother Congressman here around me, has riz the boiler o' my indignation clar up to the high pressure pinte, an' therefore I have riz to let off the steam of my hull hog patriotism, without round-about- ation, and without the trimmins. The truth wants no trimmins for in her clar naked state o' natur she's as graceful as a suckin colt i' the sunshine. Mr. Speaker! What in the name o' kill-sheep-dog rascality is the country a- comin' to? Whar's all the honor? no whar! an thar it'll stick! Whar's the state revenue? Every whar but whar it ought to be!
"Why, Mr. Speaker, don't squint with horror, when I tell you that last Saturday mornin' Uncle Sam hadn't the first fip to give to the barbet! The banks suspend payment, and the starving people suspend themselves by ropes! Old Currency is flat on his back, the bankers have sunk all funds in the safe arth o' speculation, and some o' these chaps grinnin' around me are as deep in the mud as a heifer in a horse-pond!
"Whar's the political honesty o' my feller congressmen? why, in bank bills and five acre speeches! Whar's all thar patriotism? in slantendicular slurs, challenges, and hair trigger pistols! Whar's all thar promises? every whar! Whar's all thar perfomances on 'em? no whar, and the poor people bellering arter 'em everywhere like a drove o' buffaloes arter their lazy keepers that, like the officers here, care for no one's stomach, but their own etarnal intarnals!
"What in the nation have you done this year? why, waste paper enough to calculate all your political sins upon, and that would take a sheet for each one o' you as long as the Mississippi. and as broad as all Kentucky. You've gone ahead in doin' nothin' backwards, till the hull nation's done up. You've spouted out a Mount Etny o' gas, chawed a hull Allegheny o' tobacco, spit a Niagary o' juice, told a hail storm o' lies, drunk a Lake Superior o' liquor, and all, as you say, for the good o' the nation; but I say, I swar, for her etarnal bankruptification!
"Tharfore, I move that the ony way to save the country is for the hull nest o' your political weasels to cut stick home instanterly, and leave me to work Uncle Sam's farm, till I restore it to its natural state o' cultivation, and shake off these state caterpillars o' corruption. Let black Dan Webster sittin there at the tother end o' the desk turn Methodist preacher; let Jack Calhoun settin' right afore him with his hair brushed back in front like a huckleberry bush in a hurrycane, after Old Hickory's topknot, turn horse- jockey. Let Harry Clay sittin' thar in the corner with his arms folded about his middle like grape vines around a black oak, go back to our old Kentuck an' improve o' lawyers an' other black sheep. Let old Daddy Quincy Adams sittin' right behind him thar, go home to Massachusetts, an' write political primers for the suckin' politicians; let Jim Buchanan go home to Pennsylvania an' smoke long nine, with the Dutchmen. Let Tom Benton, bent like a hickory saplin with ull rollin', take a roll home an' make candy "mint drops" for the babies:--for they've worked Uncle Sam's farm with the all-scratchin' harrow o' rascality, 'till it's as gray as a stone fence, as barren as barked clay, and as poor as as turkey fed on gravel stones!
"And, to conclude, Mr. Speaker, the nation can no more go ahead under such a state o'things, than a fried eel can swim upon the steam o' a tea kettle; if it can, then take these yar legs for yar hall pillars."