Lewis H. Henderson, Songs from a Littered Desk; Pittsburgh Courier, June 21, 1930

(with acknowledgment to Geo. W. Little)

Flying down the road, blood lust in its eyes,
Bearing high a grisly load, mouthing fiendish cries,
The mob, spirit of the beast, rushes to its awful feast

Of cruelly and crime–the mob at lynching time.
The smoke floats high–blots out the sky,
Obscures the tree–upon which he
The victim of their wrath is hung–murdered by this dung,
This putrid ulcer of a nation’s life–the cause of ceaseless strife,
Misbegotten sons of hags–band of brainless hinds and stags–
Idiots! spawn of drunken touts desire, long conceived in Hells fire,
Cowards one and all–who’d run if one should fall . . .
These are Columbia’s favored sons–Dixie’s honored ones,
These The backbone of the nation–cream of creation.