watson doc – “ballad of tom dooley-lyr”

#

Subject: The Ballad of Tom Dooley by Doc Watson

Ballad of Tom Dooley
Sung By: Doc Watson
Album: The Best Of Doc Watson 1964-1968
Author: I’m not sure anybody really knows for sure.

Legend has it that Tom Dooley (his real name was Dula but it was pronounced
‘Dooley’) himself penned the work then played his fiddle and sang it on his
way to the gallows tree, but there is quite a bit of doubt that the legend
is true. In any case, this ballad has been sung in the mountains of western
North Carolina since the time of Dula’s execution in 1868 for killing Laura
Foster (Laurie Foster in the song). It differs from the Kingston Trio’s
version not only in verse but in tempo. This version is played as a lively,
bluegrass-style song. A far cry from the somber tempo of the Kingston Trio’s
version. Enjoy. If anybody works out the chords for this song, please post
your version. Thanks.

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
And you dug it three feet deep;
You rolled the cold clay over her
And tromped 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, oh it’s trouble
A-Rollin’s through my breast;
As long as I’m a-living’s, boys,
They isn’t a-going let me rest.

I know they’re going hang me,
Tomorrow I’ll be dead,
Though I never even harmed a hair
On 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 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.”

Hang your head, 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
Hanging’s on 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.

0 Comments