Tom Dooley Songtext
von Rob Ickes

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster, and you know you′re bound to die

You left her by the roadside where you begged to be excused
You left her by the roadside, then you hid her clothes and shoes

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster, and you know you're bound to die

You took her on the hillside for to make her your wife
You took her on the hillside, and there you took her life
You dug the grave four feet long, you dug it three feet deep
You rolled the cold clay over her and you trumped it with your feet

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster, and you know you′re bound to die


Trouble, it's trouble, a-rolling through my breast
As long as I'm a-living, boys, ain′t a-gonna let me rest
I know they′re gonna hang me, tomorrow I'll be dead
Though I never even harmed a hair of poor little Laurie′s head

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster, and you know you're bound to die

In this world and one more, then I reckon where I′ll be
If it weren't for Sheriff Grayson, I′d be in Tennessee
And you can take down my old violin and play it all you please
For at this time tomorrow, boys, it'll be of no use to me

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster, and you know you're bound to die

′Bout this time tomorrow, where do you reckon I′ll be?
Way down yonder in the holler, hanging from a white oak tree

Hang your head, Tom Dooley, hang your head and cry
You killed poor Laurie Foster, and you know you're bound to die