Down in the willow garden where me and my love did meet

There we sat a-courting my love fell off to sleep

I had a bottle of burgundy wine which my true love did not know

And there I poisoned that dear little girl down by the banks below



I drew my saber through her which was a bloody knife

I threw her in the river which was an awful sight

My father often told me that money would set me free

If I would murder that dear little miss whose name was Rose Connelly



Now he sits by his old cabin door a wiping his tear-brimmed eyes

Mourning for his only son out on the scaffold high

My race is run beneath the sun the devil is waiting for me

For I did murder that dear little girl whose name was Rose Connelly