McKinley

[Old banjo-pickin' tune. I have to say, McKinley wasn't too bad, other than the Spanish-American War, and that braying jackass Teddy Roosevelt and William Randolph Hearst more or less dragooned him into that. At least he had sense enough not to annex Cuba. But someone got sufficiently pissed off at McKinley (over the Pullman and Homestead strikes) to plug his ass. Now, where the hell is a Polish anarchist when you need him and how can we get one to Denver?]

McKinley hollers, McKinley squalls,
The doctor says "McKinley, I can't find the ball,
You're bound to die,
Yeah, you're bound to die!"

"Doctor, Doctor, do all you can,
A man just shot my husband with a handkerchief over his hand,
I'm afraid he'll die,
I'm afraid he'll die."

Czoglosz, you rascal, see what you done!
You plugged poor McKinley with a Johnson .41,
He's bound to die!
Yeah, he's bound to die!"

Jailer said to Czolgosz, "You know why you're here,
You plugged poor McKinley, gonna take the electric chair!
You're bound to die,
Yeah, you're bound to die!"

Czolgosz told the jailer, "Treat me like a man,
You know that when I die I'm bound to go to Dixieland,
I'll be gone,
A long, long time!"

See the train a-rollin', rollin' down the track,
McKinley's in his coffin, and he ain't a-coming back,
From Buffalo,
To Washington!

Roosevelt's in the White House now, drinking from a silver cup,
McKinley's in the graveyard, and he's trying to get up!
He'll be gone,
A long, long time!