A. D.Blood

4 0 00

A. D. Blood

If you in the village think that my work was a good one,

Who closed the saloons and stopped all playing at cards,

And haled old Daisy Fraser before Justice Arnett,

In many a crusade to purge the people of sin;

Why do you let the milliner’s daughter Dora,

And the worthless son of Benjamin Pantier,

Nightly make my grave their unholy pillow?