What reason could I have to ever want Drood dead?
Why would I want to harm a hair upon his head?
But I'm the candidate you rowdy lot have chose -
And so my motives now I fear I must disclose.
After Jasper laid his nephew in the crypt, he fled!
With quarts of port, to Drood I drank a toast.
When I heard him moaning, groaning, in my drunken head
I thought Drood was a ghost!
He started screamin'
Just like a demon -
It was a dreadful cry!
Drunken stiff, my mind did hear it
As a different kind of spirit,
So I bashed him, smashed him. . .
The murderer am I!
Much thanks, goodbye!