Collected by Parler and O'Bryant
Mr. Otis Bird Marshall, Ark. July 26, 1958
Reel 358, Item 4
Way down in Londons Garden Where me and my love did meet,
And there we set and courted Till my love dropped off to sleep.
I had a bottle of the burglar's wine,
Which my true love did not know,
And there I poisoned my own true love Down under the bank below.
I drew a sabyer to her Which were a bloody knife,
I threw her into the river,
Which were a dreadful sight.
My father always taught me
That money could set me free
If I were to murder that pretty little miss
Whose name is Rose Connalee.
But now he's settin' in his own cottage door, A-wipin' his weepin' eyes,
A-gazin' at his own dear son Upon a scaffold high.
My race is run beneath the sun,
And hell's a-waiting for me,
For I have murdered that pretty little miss Whose name is Rose Connalee.
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