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