Down in the willow garden Where me and my true love did meet It was there we were courtin My love fell off to sleep I laid a bottle of burgundy wine My true love she did not know It was there I murdered that dear little girl Down on the banks below I drew my saber through her It was a bloody knife I threw her into the river It was an awful sight My father often told me That money would set me free If I would murder that poor little girl Whose name was Rose Connelly Now he stands at his cabin door Wiping his tears from his eyes Gazing on his own dear son Upon 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
connelly, murder, dear, whose, burgundy