Throw Him Down McCloskey


A.W. AUNER, SONG PUBLISHER & PRINTER, Tenth and Race Sts., Philadelphia, Pa.

Throw Him Down Mc Closkey.

‘Twas down at Dan McDevitt’s, at the corner of this street,
There was to be a prize fight, and both parties were to meet,
To make all the arrangements and see every thing was right—
McCloskey and a nagur were to have a finish fight;
The rules were London Prize Ring, and McCloskey said he’d try
To bate the nagur wid one punch or in the ring he’d die;
The odds were on McCloskey, though the betting it was small—
‘Twas on McCloskey ten to one, one the nagur none at all.

The fighters were to start in at a quarter after eight,
But the nagur did not show up and the hour was getting late;
He sent around a messenger, who then went on to say.
That the Irish crowd would jump him and he couldnt get fair play;
Then up steps Pete McCracken and said that he would fight,
Stand up or rough and tumble, if McCloskey didn’t bite;
McCleskey says I’ll go you, then the seconds got in place,
And the fighters started in to decorate each other’s face.

They fought like two hyenas till the forty-seventh round;
The scattered blood enough around, by gosh, to paint the town;
McCloskey got a mouthful of poor McCracken’s jowl;
McCracken hollered “murther” and his seconds hollored “foul;”
The friends of both the fightərs that instant did begin
To fight and ate each other, the whole party started in;
You couldn’t tell the difference if you’d fighters if you’d try;
McCracken lost his upper lips, McCloskey lost an eye.

A.W. AUNER’S CARD AND JOB PRINTING ROOMS, Tenth and Race Sts., Philadelphia, Pa.

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