I've finally found the words to the song that jumped into my head when I saw this thread. It's called "The Tenant" and is sung to a Child ballad tune (which I can't quite place). Could some kind elf top and tail it to be harvested for inclusion in DT?

The Tenant

The tenant worked a part time job
While her kids were at school.
All she could find was assembly line
Sittin' on a metal stool
Sittin' on a metal stool.

The landlord worked out on his yacht,
Polishing its brass
His cheeks were pink from his tall cool drink.
You know, he had a lot of class -
His initials were etched in the glass.

She picked her kids up after school
In a smoking tan Corvair
And parked in back near the S.P. tracks
And creaked up the apartment stairs,
And creaked up the apartment stairs.

The landlord walked back to his club
And changed into his Gucci shoes
And slipped into his black Cadillac
To see which properties he'd choose
To see which properties he'd choose.

Eviction notice on her door
Meant pay up quick or go -
But she wouldn't pay with the plumbing that way
And rain dripping through to the floor.
And rain dripping through to the floor.

The landlord drove back to his home
High up on the hill,
Where he took a look at the work of the cook,
And sat back to take his fill,
And sat back to take his fill.

The tenant took her pound of round
And mixed it with sauce and bread
And a big plate of rice to cut down on the price
To keep her and the children fed
To keep her and the children fed.

The landlord finished with fine aged wine
And swaggered to the phone
To make him a deal to top an elegant meal
If that little tenant was at home
If that little tenant was at home.

She answered, saying, "You've got the law
And the lawyers to see you win.
But if you're coming here it's not for love and a beer
But to see the shape your building's in
To see the shape your building's in."

His hands were sweaty as he stood at the door,
A cocky grin on his face.
When she showed him the sink he didn't look or think
His arms tightened 'round her waist
His arms tightened 'round her waist

She drove an ice-pick into his chest,
Blood dripped to the floor.
When she saw it spurt from his monogrammed shirt,
She stuck him a few times more.
She stuck him a few times more.

Now she felt bad about her kitchen floor,
But her rage was more than fear
So she reached for a mop instead of calling a cop -
She had better plans for twenty years.
She had better plans for the next twenty years.

She made a noose and tied him to a caboose,
Underneath so he dragged along.
He was ground away from Oakland to L.A. -        
She doesn't think she did it wrong -
That's why it' s not a tragic song.        

By Peter Boyd, from the singing of Ruthie Gorton of LA. I met Ruthie at Lou Curtiss' San Diego Folk Festival one year in the 'seventies, and we did a few gigs together, including a little tour in BC, but I've lost sight of her since. You all may know here as the author of "Voices from the Mountains", a fine song in (and used as a title for) a book by Guy Carawan et al. A fabulous singer!

Jon Bartlett