Tom Dooley - Doc Watson Cover - HIVE Open Mic 104

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    celticheartbeat

    Published on Apr 04, 2022
    About :

    Hey Folks

    For this weeks theme of Guitarra Automática I want to take a shot at a Doc Watson song called Tom Dooley.

    We cant think of influencial guitarists without thinking of Doc Watson so I felt I should try and bring a song of his this week.

    "Tom Dooley"
    Doc Watson

    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 ther 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' 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 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 Tennesee.

    You can take down my old guitar
    And play it all you please.
    For at this time tomorrow, boys,
    Iit'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?
    Down yonder in the holler
    Hangin' 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.

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