Other Exercises
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William poor Hattie Carroll
a that he twirled his ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel gath'rin'.
And the were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody 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
rich wealthy parents who and him
And 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 away your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came through the room,
Doomed and determined to all the gentle.
And she never to William Zanzinger.
But you who disgrace and all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for tears.
In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show all's equal and the courts are on the level
And that the in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that the get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the who killed for no reason
Who happened to be feelin' way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize and criticize all fears,
the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears.
a that he twirled his ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel gath'rin'.
And the were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody 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
rich wealthy parents who and him
And 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 away your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came through the room,
Doomed and determined to all the gentle.
And she never to William Zanzinger.
But you who disgrace and all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for tears.
In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show all's equal and the courts are on the level
And that the in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that the get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the who killed for no reason
Who happened to be feelin' way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize and criticize all fears,
the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears.
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