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