Copyright, 1894, by Friday & Hall.
Words and Music by Wm. H. Friday, Jr.
Oh, listen to a story-a story often told-
Within a city court-room, a judge sit- stem and cold;
Before him there is weeping a lad, accused of theft;
His mother, sad and careworn, of every joy bereft.
A millionaire accuses him, to shield another's deed;
To every plea of innocence that judge gives little heed;
That millionaire's own son it was who did the crime so base,
While one to prison goes, the other's free, with smiling face.
For he moves in the best of society,
The very front rank of society;
With wealth at command, what a crowd 'round him throng,
His life unto him is a beautiful song;
His money hides all impropriety,
Oh, what a sham is society;
With his glitter and glare,
He's king everywhere,
And, of course, he can do nothing wrong.
A simple village maiden once gave her heart away;
She loved, but, ah! not wisely, and soon was led astray;
She seeks a kindly shelter timid the winter's snow;
Alas! within the city, there's none to hear her woe;
She begs of one who passes, and a rich man, proud is he,
The cause of all her sorrow and her want and misery.
He spurns her, and goes on his way, she perishes that night;
The rich man to his club departs, his life all gay and bright.- Chorus
A father, sad and weary, with children, wife, at home,
To seek for bread to feed them from door to door does roam;
He hears their cries of anguish, and steals a loaf one day,
But at the bar of justice, he's placid, without delay,
Beside him stands a prisoner, who's dressed in rich attire,
The judge looks down with smiles on one, the other greets with ire;
The father for his paltry crime is swiftly led to jail,
The thief, who stole his millions, is let out on little bail.-Chorus.