—Doc Watson Version
Chorus:
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
You took her on the hillside
For to make her your wife;
You took her on the hillside
And ther you took her life
You dug the grave four feet long
And you dug it three feet deep;
You rolled the cold clay over her
And tromped it with your feet
Trouble, oh it's trouble
A-rollin' through my breast;
As long as I'm a-livin', boys
They 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
On poor little Laurie's head."
In this world and one more
Then reckon where I'll be;
If is wasn't for Sheriff Grayson
I'd be in Tennessee
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."
At this time tomorrow
Where do you reckon I'll be?
Away down yonder in the holler
Hangin' on a white oak tree
Chorus and Verse:
| I | IV | IV | I |
| V | V | IV | I |