And The Verdict Was - song lyrics 
American Old-time song lyrics from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
AND THE VERDICT WAS. Copyright, 1894, by T. B. Harms it: Co. Words and Music by Charles Osborne. 
Life's short, very, very short, here we haven't long to stay; So I'm giving you a rhyme, something in the short, sweet way. Little Billy Bates fastened on his skates, but the ice was thin; Suddenly a crack, wollop on his back, little Billy Bates popp'd in, And the verdict was: 
Refrain. A little boy, a pair of skates, Broken ice, heaven's gates. 
Four pards played a game of cards, Poker was its name, I think; Something where they handle chips, likewise handle lots to drink. One pard drew a hand, said that "Pat" he'd stand; but his little pile. When the others called, didn't he feel galled, oh, he wore a sickly smile, And the verdict was: 
Refrain. A bobtail flush, asick'ning thud, Aces four, name is mud. 
Maria made the kitchen fire, threw in lots of kindling wood; She was such a tidy girl, very goody, goody, good. Fire it wouldn't go, lit up rather slow; kerosene she got, Poured it from a can, like a little man, through the roof she flew, red hot, And the verdict was: 
Refrain. A busted stove, a girl well done, Angels wings, built for one. 
Bill Dunn monkeyed with a gun, held it in a giddy style; He had read the papers, too, so he wore a peaceful smile, Then that gun he took and began to look down the barrel small; Soon the trigger flew, and, the next he knew, Billy Dunn took in a ball, And the verdict was: 
Refrain. A loaded gun-cannot tell how, Pushing clouds-Bill knows now. 
A cat on a high fence sat, youlded away his little yowl; All the boarders woke from sleep, they began to swear and howl; One flung out a boot, couldn't make him scoot: so they struck a light, And they gave that cat, who was nice and fat, just a chunk of dynamite, And the verdict was: 
Refrain. A little for, a claw or two, Whiskers, which clouds blow through. 
Jim Squash came from far Oshkosh, saw the sights in New York town; Feeling tired when night came, thought, that, he would go lie down. Took in a hotel, liked it very well, but for him, alas! Ere he went to bed, with a heavy head, farmer Squash blew out the gas, And the verdict was: 
Refrain. A giddy "lay," no cows to groom; Meter us above, golden flume.