Tom Dooley

Hang your head, Tom Dooley
Hang your head and cry
Killed poor Laura Foster (note 1)
And you know you're bound to die

You took her on the hillside (note 2)
And begged to be excused
You took her on the hillside
Then hid her clothes and shoes

You dug her grave four feet wide
Dug it three feet deep
Rolled the cold clay over her
And tromped it with your feet

[chorus]

Took her on the hillside
Stabbed with a knife (note 3)
Took her on the hillside
And then you took her life

[chorus]

This time tomorrow morning
Where do you reckon I'll be
Down in some lonesome valley
Just swinging from a white oak tree

You can take down my old violin
And play it all you please
For at this time tomorrow morning
It'll be of no use to me