Down ()den My ()meet And ()ing My ()sleep I ()wine My ()know And ()girl Down ()low I drew my saber through her It was a bloody knife I threw her in the river It was a dreadful sight My father often told me That money would set me free If I did murder that dear little girl Whose name was Rose Connelly And now he sits in his own cabin door A-wiping his tear-brimmed eye A-looking at his only son On yonder 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
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