Type Dancing

Gotta admit
it worked like a charm.
Look at those four men up there,
dressed in white robes on the gallows stage.
Anarchist scum will think twice now
about holding their protests in Chicago.

Well, it’s almost time.
The trial’s over and, even though
I was at home playing cards when the bomb
turned Haymarket into a slaughter house,
They came for me any way.
Doesn’t matter, I’m proud
to fight and die for the working man.

The money was good,
but I would have thrown
the bomb for nothing.
That foreign America-hating
scum has no business striking
our slaughterhouses and mills.
Forty hour weeks? Lazy bums.
If you don’t like the work conditions, quit.

Hanging us won’t stop the movement.
We will succeed in getting decent hours and pay.
Sure, we anarchists advocated roughing up scabs,
but we don’t sanction killing, not like the cops.
Ah, I see the hoods for our heads, it’s coming soon,
the curtain’s about to be drawn.

I’m sorry some cops got killed,
but, hey, that’s the way it goes sometimes.
Broke the spirit of the strikers though.
Gave us the excuse to round up the radicals.
Ah, last words. Won’t be long now.

I’m glad the paper spelled my name right
and reported I asked the governor for no pardon.
Last words? Sure. “Today is a great day.
I am proud to die.”

What’d he say?
Damn foreigners don’t even speak English.
Whoa! Look at ‘em drop. See the legs kick.
It all worked out in the end.