Tom Dooley

(albüm: Doc Watson - 1964)

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster and you know you're bound to die

You left her by the roadside where you begged to be excused
You left her by the roadside, then you hid her clothes and shoes

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster and you know you're bound to die

You took her on the hillside for to make her your wife
You took her on the hillside and there, you took her life
You dug the grave four feet long and you dug it three feet deep
You rolled the cold clay over her and tromped it with your feet

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster and you know you're bound to die

Trouble, oh, it's trouble a-rolling through my breast
As long as I'm a-living, boys, they ain't a-gonna let me rest
I know they're gonna hang me, tomorrow, I'll be dead
Though I never even harmed a hair on poor little Laurie's head

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster and you know you're bound to die

In this world and one more, then reckon where I'll be
If it wasn't for Sheriff Grayson, I'd be in Tennessee
You can take down my old violin and play it all you please
For at this time tomorrow, boys, it'll be of no use to me

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster and you know you're bound to die

At this time tomorrow, where do you reckon I'll be?
Away down yonder in the holler, hanging on a white oak tree

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster and you know you're bound to die