Tom Dooley

I met her on the mountain, there I took her life Met her on the mountain, stabbed her with my knife      Hang down your head, Tom Dooley    Hang down your head and cry    Hang down your head, Tom Dooley    Poor boy, you’re bound to die   This time tomorrow, reckon where I’ll be Hadn’t-a been for Grayson, I’d-a been in Tennessee (well now, boy)   This time tomorrow, reckon where I’ll be Down in some lonesome valley, hangin’ from a white oak tree

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