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 it, 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 And you dug it three feet deep;
You rolled the cold clay over her And tromped it with your feet.

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

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

Hang it, Tom Dooley, Hang your head and cry;
You killed poor Laurie Foster, And so you're bound to die.

In this world and one more Then reckon where I'll be;
If is wasn't for Sheriff Grayson, I'd be in Tennesee.

You can take down my old violin And play it all you please.
For at this time tomorrow, boys, Iit'll be of no use to me

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

At this time tomorrow Where do you reckon I'll be?
Away down yonder in the holler Hangin' on a white oak tree.

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

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