On January Tenth Nineteen Fourteen Two men fixed some masks of red handkerchiefs Walked into the Temple and South Street Store Laid Morrison and his son dead on the floor. Before he died Merlin Morrison Reached under his counter and pulled his gun The fellows tried to run back out the door again Morrison put a bullet in one of the men. Just three days later you arrested me At the Eselius home on Seventeenth South Street Just because I've got a fresh bullet hole You claim that I killed the Morrsons in their store. I was courting a woman and had a fight with a man He fired a pistol that lodged in me Old Prosecutor Leatherwood can beat out his brains But I'm not going to tell you this lady's name. Take away these attorneys you picked for me My own lawyer now I'm going to be It's because I'm a union organizer in the copper mines You've got me on your killing floor to die. My labor friends sent Judge Hilton and Christensen To prove I did not kill the Morrisons But I cannot drag my lady's honor down I can't tell where I got my gunshot wound. It was in June you convicted me You said I was guilty in the worst degree I don't want your pardon, but an honest trial, If I can't get a fair trial I will die. President Wilson wired the Governor Spry Saying please don't let Joe Hillstrom die Several thousand letters and telegrams Piled up on the governor's desk from workers hands. The governor wired to Wilson, Nothing I can do, The Pardon Board and Supreme Court, too, Both did uphold the frame up trial They all want to see me walk my last long mile. The death watch is set, it's November Eighteenth, My comrades are marching up and down the streets Of all of the cities and the towns around They can sing Joe Hillstrom never let them down. The Nineteenth Day of November is here A frosty old morning with winter in the air Two telegrams that I got to send To Elizabeth Gurley Flynn1 and Bill Haywood2. It's a hundred miles to the Wyoming line Could you arrange to have my body hauled Past that old state line before you bury me at all I just don't want to be found dead here in Utah. Hey, Gurley Flynn, I wrote you a song To the dove of peace. It's coming along. I lived like a rebel, like a rebel I die. Forget me. Organize these copper mines. They march me now out to the baseball park Tie me down in a chair, and the Doctor marks my heart With a little white rag against this black robe Goodbye Joe Hillstrom you done a pretty good job. Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |
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