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 cloths
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 feet long, and dug it three feet deep
And throwed the cold clay o'er 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 been in Tennessee