Here's a completely different kind of elegy.
Who killed Davy Moore?
How come he died and what's the reason for?
Not I, says the referee, don't point your little finger at me.
Sure I could have stopped it in the eighth and saved him from his terrible fate.
But the crowd would have booed, I'm sure, at not getting their money's worth.
Too bad he had to go, but there's pressure on meat, you know.
No, it wasn't me that made him fall, you can't blame me at all.
Who killed Davy Moore?
How come he died and what's the reason for?
Not I, says the angry crowd, whose screams fill the ring aloud.
Says too bad he died that night, but we'd just like to see a good fight.
You can't blame us for his death, we'd just like to see some sweat.
There ain't nothing wrong in that.
No, it wasn't us that made him fall, you can't blame us at all.
Who killed Davy Moore?
How come he died and what's the reason for?
Not I, says his manager, puffing on his big cigar.
It's hard to say, it's hard to tell, always thought that he was well.
Too bad for his wife and kids he's dead, but if he was sick he should have said.
No, you can't blame me at all, it wasn't me that made him fall.
Who killed Davy Moore?
How come he died and what's the reason for?
Not I, says the boxing writer, pounding his print on his old typewriter.
Says boxing ain't to blame, there's just much danger in a football game.
Says boxing is here to stay, it's just the old American way.
No, it wasn't me that made him fall, you can't blame me at all.
Who killed Davy Moore?
How come he died and what's the reason for?
Not I, says the man whose fists laid him low in a cloud of mist.
Who came here from Cuba's door, where boxing ain't allowed no more.
I hit him, yes it's true, but that's what I was paid to do.
Don't say murder, don't say kill, it was destiny, it was God's will.
Who killed Davy Moore?
How come he died and what's the reason for?