I met her on the mountain I swore she’d be my wife I met her on the mountain And I stabbed her with my knife 
Chorus Hang down your head, Tom Dooley Hang down your head and cry You killed poor Laura Foster Poor boy, you’re bound to die 
Tonight I’ll pick my banjo I’ll pick it on my knee When this time comes tomorrow It’ll be no use to me 
When this time comes tomorrow I reckon where I’ll be In some lonesome valley A-hangin’ from a white oak tree 
Oh, what my mother told me Is about to come to pass That drinkin’ and those women Would be my ruin at last 
This time tomorrow Reckon where I’ll be If it hadn’ been for Grayson I’d a-been in Tennessee 
file from: www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
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