Well, marry me To a rope and a tree What that ol judge called first degree And all the folks around town Swore to lay me in the ground When they found out Id put that poor boy down You see, I did not much care For the way that hed sit and glare So I closed his eyes for good with a barroom chair So, go and lay my poor bones Past Appalachian stone Far beneath that cold ground all alone Oh, but if youre asking me Where I would rather be It was worth it to see that boy cut from the knees
poor, appalachian, glare, lay, ground