A old style folk song
Story behind the song
This is a true story, of a gambler and politician in CHicago. The events in the story happened in 1907.
This is the first of a project I am doing combining traditional styles and themes in new songs, mixed with new recordings of traditional songs.
Lyrics
Michael McDonald by David Martin
Now I am a man name of Michael McDonald, a man of stature//power and wealth
I reached my station running gambling houses, now I've lost my health
I lie here low with weakness and fever, confined to a hospital bed
I've heard the doctors, I've heard them talking, they say I'll soon be dead
I took the pay of Irish workers, in south Chicago Town
I gave them a chance on a fight or a horse race, they'd lay their money down
After 12 long years of the dark loud bar rooms, I'm now a man of respect
I bought a fine new house fronting on State Street, I don't miss the life I left
I learned a ward boss had the power to make big money at will
I bought the votes of my gambling buddies for a crisp one dollar bill
I stole a business from a man at lake side, wagons, horses, and tack
Every load that rolls I profit 9 dollars, 9 dollars rolling back
With a word or a look I could make a man's fortune, he'd owe me with his life
I met a young girl who had such beauty, for her I divorced my wife
We had three years of fine and fancy, I learned to like champagne
She had such style, she made me happy, I was proud to share my name
She spent some time with a dashing young artist, not much more than a boy
I had no reason to think her unfaithful, his pictures just brought her joy
She became jealous of a pretty young dancer who knew her artist friend
She told him once and she told him plainly not to see that girl again
My driver came in to my fine new parlor, mud from the street on his shoes
His eyes were wide, I could tell quite plainly, he was scared to tell me news
A man was shot in a house on South Water, Webster Guerin died
The person arrested and jailed for his murder would prove to be my bride
She took a revolver I had given her Sunday, a shiny ladies gun
She shot him in the neck and he bled out quickly, then she tried to run
It seems she fell for the charms of this artist and two timed me on the sly
I turned to drink from a deep dark sadness and soon now I will die
So if you are wealthy or of means more modest, take these my words to heart
If your wife is bored and wants a hobby don't let her study art