John Wilkes came to Washington, An actor was he, He played at Theater, And went to see.
It was in April, Not many ago, The people of this fair All at the show.
The war it is all over, The happy now, And Abraham arose, to make his bow;
The cheer him wildly, to their feet, And waving of his hand, He takes his seat.
And while he sees the go on, His are running deep, His darling wife, by his side, Has fast asleep.
From the box hangs a flag, not the Stars and Bars, The flag that holds its folds Bright stripes and stars.
John Wilkes he moves down the aisle, He had once before, He passes bodyguard at the door.
He a dagger in his right hand, A in his left, He shoots Lincoln in the temple, And he sends his to rest.
The wife awakes slumber, And in her rage, jumps over the railing And him on the stage.
rue the day, he'll rue the hour, As God him shall give, When stood in that center stage, Crying, "Tyrants not live!"
The people all Then everyone, "A hand!" all the people near, "For sake, save that man!"
Booth ran back with boot and spurs Across the floor, He mounts that trusty bank mare, All at the door.
John Booth, in his last play, All dressed in deep, He gallops the alleyway, I hear those feet.
Poor Lincoln then was to say, And all has to rest, "Of all the actors in town, I Booth the best."