Tom Dooley

Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Killed poor Laura Foster
You know 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 by the roadside where you begged to be excused
You took her by the roadside where there you hid her shoes

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 as you please
At this time tomorrow, it'll be no use to me

I dug a grave four foot long, I dug it three feet deep
And throwed 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'd a-been in Tennessee