CZOLGOSZ
by Bascom Lamar Lunsford

Czolgosz, mean man,
He shot McKinley with a handkerchief on his hand
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

Czolgosz, you done me wrong
You shot me in the side when I's walking along,
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

Sent for the doctor, the doctor come
He come in a trot, when he ought to've run,
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

Pistol fire, McKinley fall,
Doctor said "McKinley, can't find the ball,"
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

Forty-four boxes all trimmed in braid,
Sixteen-wheel drivers a-climbin' up the grade,
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

McKinley in the sleeper all trimmed in lace,
Please carry him to the baggage, boys, where I can't see his face
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

The engine whistled down the line
A-blowing every station that McKinley was a-dyin',
In Buffalo, in Buffalo

Rubber-tire your buggies, decorate your hacks,
Take him to the graveyard where you can't bring him back
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

Seventeen coaches all trimmed in black
Took McKinley to the graveyard but never brought him back
To Buffalo, to Buffalo

All around the mountain in brick and in cement,
There lays the rounder that killed our president
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

Mrs. McKinley took a trip, and she took it out west,
Where she couldn't hear the people talk about McKinley's death,
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

McKinley had as wife all dressed in red,
She's going back to Buffalo where McKinley fell dead,
In Buffalo, in Buffalo

Seventeen boxes all trimmed in white
Took Roosevelt to the White House but they didn't bring him back
In Buffalo, in Buffalo

Note: This is the published version of Czolgosz by Bascom Lamar Lunsford. I'm not sure where that version on the toher thread ios from. Perhaps it's a version of Lunsford's.

-Richie