CANTO I

The organization of Dead Rabbits meet
To-day at high noon at two-six Baxter Street.
The members are mostly expert masons' clerks
Who meet in the back room of Peter MacGuirk's,
          The Marquis of Mulberry Bend.

The bunch of hod carriers, minus their hods,
Are eating smoked herring and first class Cape Cods,
Like so many bloaters without any bladders.
The hods meanwhile rest in the shade of the ladders,
          'Tis lunch time at Mulberry Bend.

The lunch being munched and washed down by a chaser,
The floor now belongs to the policy racer,
Sylvester O'Grady, the bug, a great talker.
This day he means business, you bet he's a corker,
          The Mayor of Mulberry Bend.

Sylvester O'Grady, the bug, took a chew of
The smoked hunk of herring; he took it in lieu of
Tobacco, then made this announcement while munching,
His audience howling were ready for punching
          And beating up Mulberry Bend.

 My men," said O'Grady, "it's time now to act and
At once, for the Bowery Boys form a pact and
They mane to march through the Five Points, yis indade,
Through blood they will wade, sure they mane to invade
          The district of Mulberry Bend."

The bunch of Dead Rabbits were all in commotion,
Montgomery Flaherty rose with a motion,
He called on the crowd to collect all the brickbats,
And then stand in wait for those Bowery Mick rats
          And drive them from Mulberry Bend.

The crowd loudly cheered and declared they would do it;
Most hazardous scheme, buggy bug house, they knew it, Nevertheless these full-fledged crazy hod carriers
Blocked up the streets with impregnable clod barriers,
          Cheering for Mulberry Bend.

CANTO II

The Bowery Boys have decided to march, sure,
And give the Five Points one last settling souse cure.
They hold a big meeting, there's all kinds of blather.
The clans from the different wards quickly gather,
          The pick of the Bowery Boys.

They meet in the corner saloon, stick the stake,
Sing Lannigan's Ball, also Finnigan's Wake;
The gin mill in question by name "Badden Badden,"
Is run by the famous Gustavus MacFadden
          The chief of the Bowery Boys.

A voice said "Beware o' those dirty 'Dead Rabbits,'
We all know too well are addicted to habits
Outrageous! They threatened, yes, this very morning,
To get us the next time we trespass. Take warning,
          Take warning, ye Bowery Boys."

No hand in the wall inciting indictment,
Could ever have brought the frightful excitement
Now caused by these ugly prophetic plain words.
MacFadden in fury exhorted his herds
          Of crazy mad Bowery Boys.

They rush to the street, they gather in line
(Triumphantly sour like pickles in brine),
The brightest red shirts, the tallest high hats,
Well armed with stout clubs, this gang of wharf rats
          The pride of the Bowery Boys.

They march to the tune of the "Dying Cow Jenny."
The child of the regiment, little kid Benny,
With bucket and dipper distributes the drink.
They dance to the music of "Stinkety Wink."
          Good luck to the Bowery Boys.

CANTO III

In wild expectation the Dead Rabbits gather,
Up alley way, sally way, wasting no blather,
But grimly determined to fight, no retreat.
The Bowery Boys now intrude on their beat,
          The region of Mulberry Bend.

From fair Doyer lane comes the tread of invaders
Resplendent with red shirts, implacable raiders,
Who shout their defiance with impudence, braving
The wrath of the "Rabbits." Oh, hear them curse, raving
          To thunder with Mulberry Bend!

From up on a roof came a voice, "Quick, Mike, swat her!"
The chimney is seen first to tremble, then totter.
Great Heaven! that yell, Oh, that flash, hear the smash!
The chimney is falling, great God, what a crash,
          Have mercy on Mulberry Bend!

Rocks, splinters and brick all congested with plaster,
Crash dashing, an avalanche bent on disaster.
Such yelling, such cursing, such struggling yeggs!
Such breaking of heads and such tearing of legs,
          All havoc in Mulberry Bend.

The cops soon arrive (in the usual way)
Just missing the scrimmage, too late for the fray.
The bunch of "Dead Rabbits," defunct in the lump,
Mixed up with dead "Bowery Boys," form a clump—
The flower of Mulberry Bend.

The fame of the scuffle will never die out
No creature can ever its brilliancy doubt.
From that time to this we have mused on the diet
We gobbled that day at the "Dead Rabbit "riot.
The glory of Mulberry Bend.

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