Classic Poem

My father was a gambler, he learnt me how to play,
Saying, “Son, don't go a-begging when you hold the ace and tray,
When you hold the ace and tray.”

Hang me, O hang me, and I'll be dead and gone,
I wouldn't mind the hangin', it's bein' gone so long,
It's layin' in the grave so long.

They took me down to old Fort Smith as sick as I could be,
They handed me a letter saying, “Son, come home to me.”
Saying, “Son, come home to me.”

My father and my mother and my little sister makes three,
They all came up to the gallows to see the last of me,
To see the last of me.

They put the rope around my neck and drew me very high,
And the words I heard 'em sayin' was “It won't be long till he'll die,
It won't be long till he'll die.”