Mcmullen, The Squire - song lyrics 
American Old-time song lyrics from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
Mcmullen, the squire. Written and sung by Sam Devere. 
There's a solid old sport in Phila., The 4th ward is his favorite spot; Where the billy goat roamed at his leisure. Long ago upon Sweeny's old lot. Fair maids from the Rue de Fitzwater. On a sweet Summer's eve would stroll by. When they'd pipe off his nibbs Squire McMullcn. You'd hear them exclaim with a sigh: 
Chorus. Oh. bless his bald head, here's the squire. He sets all the ladies on fire; On a cold Winter's day they perspire. When Squire McMullen goes by. Oh. the babies stick to him like leeches. He stuffs them with cream puffs and peaches; They say he looks well in tight breeches. Oh, Wm. McMullen, the squire. 
They say his parents were Italians. When a kid he was; wicked and fat; That he once sawed his grandmother's leg off. And pulverized Sam Randall's cat. Turned pirate on the dark, raging Schuylkill, Made fortune and fame in a day; Then the gory 4th ward made him alderman. Now you'll hear the politicians all say: 
Chorus. Who gets your big brothers positions} Who made all your big politicians? Who elects them on certain conditions? Why Billy McMullon, the squire. Oh, the committee of 100 looked sullen. Their heads were so awfully swollen; Who done it? why Squire McMullen, Yes, Billy McMullen, the squire.