John Baptiste
There was a gravedigger in a Northside graveyard
His profession was covered with shame
He dug down so neat, graves both narrow and straight
And they say John Baptiste was his name

But when the sun set on the great Salton Sea
And the graveyard was shadowed in night
With a spade in his hand he would lift out the sand
Bringing new buried dead to the light

He robbed them poor dead folks of clothing and shoes
With none but the stars looking on
And he made them a bundle up under his arm
And took them to town for to pawn

The pawnbroker hung a great sign on his store
Get the best buy in funeral attire
But he could not know that those clothes weren't for sale
But only a short time for hire

It was not long till the townspeople thought
How so sudden this trade come about
They went first to the judges and then to the graveyard
And called that gravedigger out

And when they uncovered the new buried dead
There arose such a cry and a stir
The ladies they fainted or covered their eyes
Stark naked their relatives were

John Baptiste, John Baptiste, you're called to the bar
To listen while sentence is read
To Fremont Isle you are exiled for life
To starve there until you are dead

They cast him ashore on that barren cold isle
To fetch for himself all alone
But when they returned only three weeks gone by
John Baptiste the exile was gone

They searched and they searched in the gullies and crags
And wondered at the gravedigger's plight
Some say he escaped on a driftwood raft
Or swam to the mainland at night

But shore dwellers say on a stormy cold day
When the wind drives the waves on the land
You can still see the ghost of old John Baptiste
Come dragging his feet through the sand

His clothes are all soaked in the salt and sea spray
And tattered to bits by the storm
And he carries a bundle of dead men's clothes
All tucked up under his arm

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