Mcmullen, the squire.
Written and sung by Sam Devere.
There's a solid old sport in Phila.,
The 4th ward is his favorite spot;
Where the billy goat roamed at his leisure.
Long ago upon Sweeny's old lot.
Fair maids from the Rue de Fitzwater.
On a sweet Summer's eve would stroll by.
When they'd pipe off his nibbs Squire McMullcn.
You'd hear them exclaim with a sigh:
Oh. bless his bald head, here's the squire.
He sets all the ladies on fire;
On a cold Winter's day they perspire.
When Squire McMullen goes by.
Oh. the babies stick to him like leeches.
He stuffs them with cream puffs and peaches;
They say he looks well in tight breeches.
Oh, Wm. McMullen, the squire.
They say his parents were Italians.
When a kid he was; wicked and fat;
That he once sawed his grandmother's leg off.
And pulverized Sam Randall's cat.
Turned pirate on the dark, raging Schuylkill,
Made fortune and fame in a day;
Then the gory 4th ward made him alderman.
Now you'll hear the politicians all say:
Who gets your big brothers positions}
Who made all your big politicians?
Who elects them on certain conditions?
Why Billy McMullon, the squire.
Oh, the committee of 100 looked sullen.
Their heads were so awfully swollen;
Who done it? why Squire McMullen,
Yes, Billy McMullen, the squire.