Other Exercises
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William Zanzinger poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a hotel society gath'rin'.
And the were called in and his weapon took 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 all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office in the politics of Maryland,
to his deed a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his 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 from 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 dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food the table
And the ashtrays on a other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down the room,
and to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize and 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 the courts are on the level
And the strings in the ain't and persuaded
And even the get properly handled
Once that the cops after and caught 'em
And the of law has no top and no bottom,
at the person who killed for no reason
Who just to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke his cloak, most deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears.
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a hotel society gath'rin'.
And the were called in and his weapon took 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 all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office in the politics of Maryland,
to his deed a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his 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 from 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 dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food the table
And the ashtrays on a other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down the room,
and to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize and 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 the courts are on the level
And the strings in the ain't and persuaded
And even the get properly handled
Once that the cops after and caught 'em
And the of law has no top and no bottom,
at the person who killed for no reason
Who just to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke his cloak, most deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears.
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