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On April the thirtieth |
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Nineteen thirty-three |
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Upon the streets of Wilder |
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They shot him brave and free |
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They shot my darling father |
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He fell upon the ground |
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'Twas in the back they shot him |
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His blood came streaming down |
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They took the pistol handles |
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And beat him on the head |
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The hired gunmen beat him |
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'Til he was cold and dead |
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When he left home that morning |
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I though he'd never return |
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But for my darlin' father |
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My heart shall ever yearn |
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We carried him to the graveyard |
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There we laid him down |
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To sleep in death for many a year |
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In the cold and sodden ground |
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Although he left the union |
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He tried so hard build |
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His blood was spilled for justice |
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And justice guides us still |
