调：C minor
Verse 1
Not I, says the referee,
don't point your little finger at me.
Sure I could have stopped it in the eighth
and saved him from his terrible fate.
I'm sure, at not getting
their money's worth
Too bad he had to go,
but there was pressure on me too,
No, it wasn't me that made him fall,
Who killed Aveymore?
Not I, says the angry crowd,
whose screams fill the arena loud
Too bad he died that night,
but we'd just like to see a good fight
we'd just like to see some sweat
There ain't nothing wrong in that,
Who killed Davy Moore?
Why did he die and
Not I, says his manager,
puffin' on a big cigar
It's hard to say, it's hard to tell,
I always thought that he was well
kids he's dead
But if he was sick he should have said
Who killed Aveymore?
Why did he die and
Not I, says the boxing writer
Poundin' the print in his old typewriter
Who says boxing ain't to blame
There's just as much danger
in a football game
Who killed Aveymore?
Not I, said the man whose fists laid
him low in a cloud of mist
Who came here from Cuba's door
where boxing ain't allowed no more
but that's what I was paid to do
it was destiny, it was God's will
Why did he die
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