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William killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his ring finger
At a Baltimore society gath'rin'.
And the cops were called in and his weapon from him
As rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree murder.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With wealthy parents who provide and him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling,
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
Hattie Carroll was a of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat at the of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who cleaned up all the the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole level,
Got killed by a blow, lay by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she nothing to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the person who for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for and repentance,
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who disgrace and all fears,
Bury the rag deep in face
For now's the for your tears.
With a cane that he twirled around his ring finger
At a Baltimore society gath'rin'.
And the cops were called in and his weapon from him
As rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree murder.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With wealthy parents who provide and him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling,
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
Hattie Carroll was a of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat at the of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who cleaned up all the the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole level,
Got killed by a blow, lay by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she nothing to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the person who for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for and repentance,
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who disgrace and all fears,
Bury the rag deep in face
For now's the for your tears.
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