Tom Dooley

I met her on the mountain
I swore she'd be my 5 wife
I met her on the mountain
And I stabbed her with my 1 knife

Chorus
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and 5 cry
You killed poor Laura Foster
Poor boy, you're bound to 1 die

Tonight I'll pick my banjo
I'll pick it on my knee
When this time comes tomorrow
It'll be no use to me

When this time comes tomorrow
I reckon where I'll be
In some lonesome valley
A-hangin' from a white oak tree

Oh, what my mother told me
Is about to come to pass
That drinkin' and those women
Would be my ruin at last

This time tomorrow
Reckon where I'll be
If it hadn' been for Grayson
I'd a-been in Tennessee