Tom Dooley

Hang down you'r head, Tom Dooley, hang down you're head and cry.
Killed poor Laura Foster, poor boy, you're bound to die

You took her on the hillside as God almighty knows,
you took her on the hillside, and there you hid her clothes.

You took her on the hillside, to make her your wife,
you took her on the hillside, where there you took her life.

Take down my old violin and play it all you please,
at this time tomorrow it'll be no use to me.

I dug a grave four feet long, I dug it three feet deep,
and throw'd the cold clay o'er her and tramped it with my feet.

This world and one more then, where do you reckon I'd be?
If it hadn't been for Grayson, I'a-a-been in Tennessee.

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