Other Exercises
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William killed poor Hattie Carroll
a cane that he twirled around his ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'.
And the in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked 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 rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling,
In a of minutes on bail was out walking.
But you who philosophize and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the for your tears.
Hattie Carroll was a of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And the ashtrays on a whole other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from face.
Now ain't the time for tears.
In the of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and 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 chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William Zanzinger a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag in your face
For now's the for your tears.
a cane that he twirled around his ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'.
And the in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked 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 rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling,
In a of minutes on bail was out walking.
But you who philosophize and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the for your tears.
Hattie Carroll was a of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And the ashtrays on a whole other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from face.
Now ain't the time for tears.
In the of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and 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 chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William Zanzinger a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag in your face
For now's the for your tears.
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