WHEN HOGAN PAID HIS RENT.
Copyright, 1891, by Frank Harding.
Words and Music by J. W. Kelly.
Malachi Hogan rents his place from Gallagher's estate;
Peter Brady is collector, whom the neighbors hate;
He went to Hogau's Tuesday night and asked him for his rent,
Treat the boys, says Hogan, or I'll never pay a cent.
Indeed I won't, says Brady, and I'll tell you to your face,
Until you pay me every red, I'll never leave the place;
Both of them were lighting mad, on murther they were bent,
And all the crowd stood back to see how Hogan paid his rent
Each gave back the other what he sent;
The bones they didn't break were badly bent;
They slugged each other, hugged each other,
And with sticks they clubbed each other,
Any kind of fighting went when Hogan paid his rent.
When Hogan sent an upper cut, and Brady threw a chair,
It knocked Tim Fagan's teeth out, he swore he would get square;
He countered with a cuspidore, but Brady let it pass,
It found a home behind the bar in Hogan's looking glass;
Then Hogan leapt for Fagan And Fagan tried to run.
Look out, says Andy Monahan, Mike Walsh has got a gun.
Let me out, says Fagan, my life is nearly spent,
I'm wit you, too, says Brady, And let Hogan keep his rent - Chorus.
The noise brought all the neighbors out for six or seven blocks;
Brady fought with boots in hand, and wearing out his socks;
A basketful of broken glass was thrown upon the floor,
Poor Brady cut his feet, of course, and then the fight was o'er.
The police brought the wagon 'round at last to stop the row.
Sure every man was cut or bruised, but no one could tell how;
Well Brady paid the fines for all, and then he dropped a hint
That he would always buy the drinks when Hogan paid his rent. -Chorus.