Tom Dooley

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 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-rollin' through my breast As long as I'm a-livin', 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, hangin' 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