The Bombing of Gon Fanfew

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The Bombing of Gon Fanfew


A gang of the Reds were hanging a Jew

In the Murderer’s Rest Saloon

And the girl at the accordion

Was whanging, “The Devil’s Own Tune”;

Over by the Hangman’s Counter

Sat Anarchist Gon Fanfew

Notching the ears of his light-o’-love,

A murderess known as Lou.

When out of the night where the bullets hummed,

Into the smoking dive

A stranger shot his way within,

Waving a forty-five.


He came with a run as he pulled his gun

And he fired shot three or four

And then he gathered the bodies up

And hove them out the door.

He cut the throat of the music-girl

And sat down on the stool

And if that fellow couldn’t play,

Well, I’m a Royal fool.

He played such tunes as the “Cutthroat’s League”

And “The Murderer’s March” and then

He swung into a tune of his own,

’Twas much like “The Devil’s Den”.


He played of the far-famed “good-old-days”

Sweethearts and lover’s moon,

And as he played we seemed to see

A snug and cozy saloon.

And the rush of the Royal troops,

He shifted the accordion screws,

“No work, no pay!” it seemed to say,

And we shrieked our lust for booze.

And then the stranger wheeled about

And he pulled out his gun,

“And boys,” said he, “you don’t know me

But you will before I’m done.”


“I’ve got some word I wish to say

And they are but a few

But one of you is a bourgeoisie

And that one is Gon Fanfew!”

I ducked and somebody set off a fuse

Two bombs blazed in the dark

Somebody started throwing knives

And guns began to bark.

Somebody blew the roof clear off

And the Northern Lights streamed in

Somebody set the saloon on fire

And splashed the walls with gin.

Pitched on his head and widely spread

Lay Anarchist Gon Fanfew

And there with the stranger’s head in her hand

Lay the woman known as Lou.