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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Pinkerton's mortician is the richest man in town...despite the fact, the story goes, despite the day he'd came Ridin' in from Badger Holler - dressed in filthy rags - lookin' for a meal without a penny to his name! That was back in '63...the war was goin' strong, and Ezra Boxer'd told the town he'd gone to 'buryin' school', Though, somehow, durin' the moving, his diploma'd disappeared! But undertakers, as they knew, weren't common as a rule, So Pinkerton's town council took a vote and hired him on. The war had kept their budget strained, but what I'm told he earned Got him by quite nicely 'til the war came to an end! Then I became suspicious when, a week ago, I learned That Ezra's income, had, in fact, very nearly tripled ever since the several hundred soldiers had returned! I asked the kid who drove the hearse if Ezra'd raised his prices...figurin' what he charged to be interred - or gettin' burned - Might have risen drastically. "Not a cent," he claimed, and the only other reason I could muster made me ill! Obviously his clients, which were anyone who'd died...plus anyone that anyone had made a point to kill... Wound up in his mortuary, needin' burned or buried, and weren't no other undertakers 'round for ninety miles, So Ezra 'Boxer'd named his place, "Ezra's Boxin' Market"...by sellin' fancy coffins in a dozen diff'rent styles! Now grossin' more than ever - pret' near 2 - 3 times a month someone who'd been livin' right - with no disease at all, Suddenly died and wound up on his table, gettin' embalmed, 'cause everybody knowed there weren't nobody else to call! Pinkerton's a tiny town - just fifty-seven hundred - but healthy guys from twenty on up were dyin' left and right, And virtually all his clientele, for goin' on two years, had been the prey of fowl play, and always late at night! Findin' out that Ezra'd hired the sleazy Snuffin twins to guarantee his inventory never fell to nil, With what I've heard that pair 'll do for a twenty dollar bill, 5 'll get ya' 10, my friend, I'm sure it never will. They call it - "drummin' up business" - and the 'Boxin' Market' king has found a way for makin' sure the dough keeps rollin' in... For now, at least, but...problem is...he orders strictly guys...and Pinkerton's not all that far from - runnin' out o' men!
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