CHARLES GUITEAU

Come all you young people and listen unto me,
And likewise pay attention to these few words I say.
For the murder of James A. Garfield, I am condemned to die
On the thirtieth day of June, upon a scaffold high.

cho: My name is Charles Guiteau, that name I'll never deny.
I left my aged parents in sorrow for to die.
How little did I think, while in my youthful bloom,
That I'd be taken to the scaffold to meet my fatal doom.

'Twas down at the depot I tried to make my escape.
But, Providence against me, I found I was too late.
I tried to play insane; I found that would not do.
The people were against me, proved I was untrue.

My sister came to prison to bid her last farewell.
She threw her arms around me and wept most bitter and well
She says, "My darling brother, tomorrow you must die,
For the murder of James A. Garfield, upon the scaffold high.

The hangman is awaiting, It's a quarter after three
The black cap's on my forehead, I can no longer see
The black cap's on my forehead, I can no longer see
But when I'm dead and buried, Oh Lord remember me.


Note: Charles Guiteau, a disappointed office-seeker, shot President
James Garfield in 1881.
From Southern Folk Ballads, McNeil
Collected from Clorine Lawson, Kentucky, 1977
DT #623
Laws E11
@murder @jail @political
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