The day of the execution broke,
The sun extra brightly shone; a cloak.
Of darkness permeated all,
Within the jail, and cast a pall,
Upon the keepers, matrons, turnkeys,
Causing a wholesale, deep goldurn wheeze.

Oh Sweeny Tod, Oh Sweeny Tod.
You think you are a model Cod,
Because you dine at Dirty Dick's
And give poor Sinners rickety jicks,
Because you are the hangman, high,
In great repute where e'er you ply
Your trade upon poor fallen wrecks.
And earn your fame by breaking necks.

All is bustle in the jail.
Joyful rapture wags its tail,
Expectation, all on wing.
In the prison yard, pong ping.
Little birds their carols sing.
Dancing round a rosy ring.

One man sang another tune.
Tune of "Slip knot Mike Magoon."
Hapless wretch, the poor condemned,
Iron bars about him hemmed,
Holding him as in a vice.
'Til he paid his awful price.

Here in his cell we find him now,
With heated brain and fevered brow.
Gazing around with a ghastly stare.
Paroxysms of rage and despair.
All of a sudden he starts with fear.
A heavy footstep falls on his ear.
The jailer enters with a tray.
The man's allowance, for that day.
Setting it down he then withdrew,
Locked tight the door and barred it too.

The man now left alone again,
Tormented with the curse of Cain
Strides up and down his dismal cell,
Trying in vain remorse to quell.
Trying his guilty conscience to kill.
Trying the thoughts on his future to still.

At last he pauses near the tray,
Of food that had been left that day.
He sees a long knife gleaming there.
And overcome with deep despair.
Groans out aloud, "life for a life."
Puts forth his hand, grasps firm the knife.

Now from his presence we must turn.
Now to the Sheriff's room adjourn,
'Tis nearly noon, the time draws nigh.
When the poor criminal, must die.

The Sheriff, with a careless air
His mind serene and free from care:
Looks at his watch and then says "Well,
It's time to move," He rings a bell;
The turnkey smilingly appears,
The looked for order greets his ears.

"Fetch the prisoner here" the Sheriff cries.
"Hurry up too, the time quickly flies.
Don't poke along as you usually do.
Bring him to me, and quickly too."

The man hurries off the culprit to bring.
And with joy does jump, skip, whistle and sing.
Again the iron door swings in.
Oh wicked act, Oh deadly sin!

Behold upon the cells damp floor.
Haggard and stiff and drenched in gore.
With bleeding throat the man did lie.
Quite rigid, cold, thus did he die.
The bells rang out a fruitless toll.
I fear the man has lost his soul.
I fear the Devil comes out first.
The blackest angel slakes his thirst.

That night a sad faced man sat up.
He did not taste the flowing cup
He'd had an unsuccessful day.
The turkey buzzard lost its prey.
He don't feel like a model, Cod.
The sad faced man is Sweeny Tod.

The bate is bit, the fish is hooked.
I greatly fear your goose is cooked.
Now let the welkin ring! All screech,
"Oh Sweeny Tod you are a peach!"

Oh Sweeny Tod, don't be a loon.
There'll be another hanging soon.
Begin the ditty, start your tune.
Your song of "Slip knot Mike Magoon."

We all will try to join you in,
The chorus, go ahead and win.
Oh—yellow goats, Molasses!
Oh Ephraim Manasses!

The tea leaves circle there and here,
I see thy future written clear.
I see thy corner barber shop.
I hear a dreadful hollow flop.
I see thy victim stumble, pitch;
Sink through the floor and reach the ditch:
Fleet ditch. And now I plainly see,
Suspended on a gallows tree,
Thy form. Oh Sweeny Tod, repent.
Relentless fortune makes a dent.

I see a surging multitude.
I see thy swollen tongue protrude.
Sweeny has munched his own sweet pill.
And cashed the last receipted bill.

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