A black gun in a white lace glove

In the churchyard corner, by the weeping willow tree
They buried my poor baby in nineteen twenty three
I watched on in calm silence, I didn’t even weep
As I stood by the grave’s side, four feet wide and six feet deep
My hands were pinned by shackles as they lowered him on down
For I had an appointment with the gallows tree in town

Because I shot my baby, don’t you know I shot him down
With a stolen six-gun in a gin palace uptown
My baby, he was fickle and I sure was faithless too
We tiptoed light around the truth like liars in love do
I smelt of lecher’s cologne and he smelt of tart’s perfume
The lingering scent of lovers filled our tenement bedroom

I was not tired of my games; I sure was tired of his
He sins he flaunted in my face, I kept all mine well hid
So I followed him all around town, from tavern to saloon
Until I caught him carousing with young Molly Muldoon
She was fair and beautiful, as yet untouched by age
I glared mad at the pair of them, filled with a murderous rage

I did not do the deed then, I careful planned their fate
I laid down with a soldier and I stole his thirty-eight
The next warm April evening, to the saloon I went back
The light inside was golden, my thoughts they were all black
In a stall I saw them sitting, their faces full of joy
The gun felt light in my pocket, like a child’s flimsy toy

I asked the bald bartender for a double Plymouth gin
It burned deep in my stomach like the bitter taste of sin
I drank six shots of whiskey, then I drank six shots of rum
I put down my man and Molly M with six shots from the gun
I saw my baby bleeding through the curling pistol smoke
Molly’s dead lips smiled like she was laughing at a joke

The people in the tavern were shocked silent in dismay
I said ‘none of you fuckers move now, or I’ll blow you all away’
Then the coppers came to catch me; the law was swift and cruel
I was tackled on the tramcar as the driver’s whistle blew
They read out all my charges, I just blew a kiss and laughed
Murder is such a small thing when a girl lives hard and fast

The prison chaplain asked if I would repent to the Lord
I said ‘No, I’m a mean bastard and I revel in dischord
Now I have a reputation and the whole world knows my name
I never knew such bad deeds could bring me so much fame.’
Now the papers speak of passion, a crime of debauched love
That ended with a  six-gun in a white lace opera glove

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About andrewday82

My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right. View all posts by andrewday82

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