Down in the willow garden where me and my love did meet There we sat a-courting my love fell off to sleep I had a bottle of burgundy wine which my true love did not know And there I poisoned that dear little girl down by the banks below
I drew my saber through her which was a bloody knife I threw her in the river which was an awful sight My father often told me that money would set me free If I would murder that dear little miss whose name was Rose Connelly
Now he sits by his old cabin door a wiping his tear-brimmed eyes Mourning for his only son out on the scaffold high My race is run beneath the sun the devil is waiting for me For I did murder that dear little girl whose name was Rose Connelly