Of Thee I Sing: Jilted / I'm About to Be a Mother

Jilted, jilted

I'm a flower that's wilted

Blighted, blighted

'Til the wrong is righted

Broken, broken

By a man soft-spoken

Faded, faded

Heaven knows why

When man are deceivers, I'm afraid

'Tis sad to be a trusting maid

Jilted, jilted, jilted am I

Oh, what is there left but to die?

Jilted, jilted

She's a flower that's wilted

Blighted, blighted

'Til the wrong is righted

Broken, broken

By a man soft-spoken

Faded, faded—

Heaven knows why

Just as in the Frankie and Johnny song

He done her wrong

He done her wrong

Jilted, jilted, jilted is she

Oh, what is there left but to dee?

Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo!

And now, Mister President, what have you to say for yourself?

Impeach me! Fine me! Jail me! Sue me!

My Mary's love means much more to me

Enough! Enough! We want no preachment

It's time to vote on his impeachment

It's time to vote on his impeachment

The Senator from Minnesota?

Guilty!

Check

The Senator from North Dakota?

Guilty!

Check

The Senator from Louisiana?

Guilty!

Check

The Senator who's from Montana?

Stop! Stop! Stop!

Mary!

Before you go any further

With your permission

I must tell of my husband's delicate condition

Delicate condition?

What do you mean?

I'm about to be a mother

He's about to be a father

We're about to have a baby (Oh)

I must tell it

These doings compel it

Oh, I'm about to be a mother

He's about to be a father

We're about to have a baby

A baby?

A baby to love and adore

Who could ask for anything more?

She's about to be a mother

He's about to be a father

They're about to have a baby

We can't bother

A budding young father

Mary, is it true?

Am I gonna have a baby?

It's true, John, it's true

Water!

They're about to have a baby, a baby—

This is a fine situation

I am compromised and she gets the baby

Gentlemen, the Senate has never impeached an expectant father

What do you say?

Not guilty!

Now you can go back to being President

And I'll go back to Vice

I go to the telegraph office to cable my report

This is American trickery of the most reprehensible sort

I was the most beautiful blossom

In all the Southland

Strike up the cymbals, drum and fife

One of us was to be the President's wife

Great work, Jack

You've done your duty by posterity

Posterity—