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Zanzinger poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane he around his finger
At a hotel society gath'rin'.
And the cops were called in and his took from him
As they rode him in down to the station
And booked Zanzinger for first-degree murder.
But you who philosophize and all fears,
Take the rag away from 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 who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
Reacted to his with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words 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 from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
Hattie was a maid of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and out the garbage
And never sat once at the of the table
And didn't even talk to the at the table
Who just cleaned up all the from the table
And the ashtrays on a whole other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay by a cane
That sailed the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done nothing to Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away 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 the cops have chased after and 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke his cloak, most and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for tears.
With a cane he around his finger
At a hotel society gath'rin'.
And the cops were called in and his took from him
As they rode him in down to the station
And booked Zanzinger for first-degree murder.
But you who philosophize and all fears,
Take the rag away from 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 who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
Reacted to his with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words 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 from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.
Hattie was a maid of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and out the garbage
And never sat once at the of the table
And didn't even talk to the at the table
Who just cleaned up all the from the table
And the ashtrays on a whole other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay by a cane
That sailed the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done nothing to Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away 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 the cops have chased after and 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke his cloak, most and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for tears.
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