Classic Poem

Frankie was a good woman,
Ev'rybody knows,
She spent a hundred dollars
For to buy her man some clothes.
He was her man,
But he done her wrong.

Frankie went a-walkin'
Did not go for fun,
Underneath her little red petticoat
She had Albert's forty-one.
Gonna kill her man
For doin' her wrong.

Frankie went to the barroom
Ordered her a glass of beer,
Says to the bartender,
" Has my lovin' man been here?
He's my man,
But he's doin' me wrong. "

" I will not tell you no story,
I will not tell you no lie, —
Albert left here about an hour ago
With a gal named Alice Fly.
He's your man,
But he's doin' you wrong. "

Frankie went by the house,
She did not give no 'larm,
She looked in through the window glass
And saw Albert in the woman's arms.
He was her man, Lawd,
Doin' her wrong.

When Albert, he saw Frankie,
For the backdoor, he did scoot,
Frankie drew that forty-four,
Went — rooty-toot-toot-toot-toot!
She shot her man,
For doin' her wrong.

First time she shot him, he staggered,
Next time she shot him, he fell,
Third time she shot him, O Lawdy,
There was a new man's face in hell.
She killed her man,
For doin' her wrong.

When Frankie, she shot Albert,
He fell all in a knot,
Cryin', " O Mrs. Johnson,
See where your son is shot.
She's killed your son,
The only one.

" O turn me over doctor,
Turn me over slow,
I got a bullet in my lef' han' side,
Great God, is hurtin' me so.
I was her man,
But I done her wrong. "

Frankie went to Mrs. Johnson,
Fell down on her knees,
Cryin' " O Mrs. Johnson,
Will you forgive me please?
I kilt your son,
The onlies' one. "

" I will forgive you Frankie,
I will forgive you not,
You shot my lovin' Albert,
The only support I'm got.
Kilt my son,
The only one. "

Poor boy, poor boy,
Poor boy, poor boy.
Done gone, done gone,
Done gone, done gone.

Frankie went to the graveyard,
Fell down on her knees, —
" Speak one word, Albert,
And give my heart some ease.
You was my man,
But you done me wrong. "

A rubber tir'ed buggy,
A decorated hack
Took po' Albert to the graveyard
But it didn't bring him back.
He was her man,
But he done her wrong.

Poor boy, poor boy,
Poor boy, poor boy.
Done gone, done gone,
Done gone, done gone.

Frankie looked down Main street,
Far as she could see,
All she could hear was a two string bow,
Playin' Nearer My God to Thee ,
All over town,
Po' Albert's dead.

Frankie said to the sheriff,
" What do you think it'll be? "
The sheriff said, " It looks jest like
Murder in the first degree,
He was your man,
But you shot him down. "

It was not murder in the first degree,
Nor murder in the third,
A woman simply dropped her man,
Like a hunter dropped a bird.
She shot her man,
For doin' her wrong.

Last time I saw Frankie
She was sittin' in the 'lectric chair,
Waitin' for to go and meet her God
With the sweat drippin' outa her hair.
He was her man
But he done her wrong.

Poor gal, poor gal,
Poor gal, poor gal.
Done gone, done gone,
Done gone, done gone.