In a cramped anarchists garrett
so gloomy and so mean
you can smell the pungent odor of nitroglycerine.
They’re busy wrapping fuses
and filling cans with nails
while the little anarchist chlidren
send up this mournful wail-
Oh...
Its sister Jenny’s turn to throw the bomb
the last one it blew up our brother Tom.
Mama’s aim is bad
and the FBI caught dad
so its sister Jenny’s turn to throw the bomb.
In a cramped anarchists garrett
all filled with nitro fumes
they spend each waking hour
planning other peoples dooms.
They build bombs in the morning
so not a day goes by
when from some burning ruin
you can hear this mournful cry-
Oh...
Its sister Jenny’s turn to throw the bomb
the last one it blew up our brother Tom.
Mama’s aim is bad
and the FBI caught dad
so its sister Jenny’s turn to throw the bomb.
They’re taught bomb building from the day they’re born
and peace is something that they learn to scorn.
They can hardly wait
to see the flash and hear the noise
and watch the heads go flying off little girls and boys-
Oh...
Its sister Jenny’s turn to throw the bomb
the last one it blew up our brother Tom.
Mama’s aim is bad
and the FBI caught dad
so its sister Jenny’ s turn to throw the bomb.
She was maiming little children one fine day
when her older brother swore she’d have to pay.
He grit his teeth and pulled the pin
and the whole damn house caved-in
and I’ll bet she’s building bombs Below today-
Oh...
Its brother Franky’s turn to throw the bomb
sister Jenny’s gone the way of brother Tom.
Mama’s aim is bad
and the FBI caught dad
so its brother Franky’s turn to throw the bomb...

-ol’ nasty-ass pseudo folk song