Classic Poem

Oh, bow your head, Tom Dooley;
Oh, bow your head and cry;
You have killed poor Laury Foster
And you know you're bound to die.

You have killed poor Laury Foster;
You know you have done wrong;
You have killed poor Laury Foster,
Your true love in your arms.

I take my banjo this evening;
I pick it on my knee;
This time tomorrow evening
It will be of no use to me.

This day and one more;
Oh, where do you reckon I'll be?
This day and one more,
And I'll be in eternity.

I had my trial at Wilkesboro;
Oh, what do you reckon they done?
They bound me over to Statesville
And there where I'll be hung.

The limb being oak
And the rope being strong —
Oh, bow your head, Tom Dooley,
For you know you are bound to hang.

O pappy, O pappy,
What shall I do?
I have lost all my money,
And killed poor Laury too.

O mammy, O mammy,
Oh, don't you weep, nor cry;
I have killed poor Laury Foster
And you know I am bound to die.

Oh, what my mammy told me
Is about to come to pass:
That drinking and the women
Would be my ruin at last.