Down in a willow garden
Where me and my love did meet,
'Twas there we sat a courting
My love dropped off to sleep
I had a bottle of the Burglar's wine
Which my true love did not know,
And so I poisoned that dear little girl
Down under the bank below
I stobbed her with a dagger,
Which was a bloody knife,
I threw her in the river,
Which was a dreadful sight
My father often told me
That money would set me free,
If I would murder that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connelly
And now he sits in his own cottage door,
a wiping his weeping eye,
And now he waits for his own dear son,
Upon the scaffold high
My race is run beneath the sun,
Lo, hell's now waiting for me,
For I have murdered that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connelly
Kelly Joe Phelps - Down In A Willow Garden Lyrics
Kelly Joe Phelps - Down In A Willow Garden Lyrics
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Down in a willow garden
Where me and my love did meet,
'Twas there we sat a courting
My love dropped off to sleep
I had a bottle of the Burglar's wine
Which my true love did not know,
And so I poisoned that dear little girl
Down under the bank below
I stobbed her with a dagger,
Which was a bloody knife,
I threw her in the river,
Which was a dreadful sight
My father often told me
That money would set me free,
If I would murder that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connelly
And now he sits in his own cottage door,
a wiping his weeping eye,
And now he waits for his own dear son,
Upon the scaffold high
My race is run beneath the sun,
Lo, hell's now waiting for me,
For I have murdered that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connelly
Where me and my love did meet,
'Twas there we sat a courting
My love dropped off to sleep
I had a bottle of the Burglar's wine
Which my true love did not know,
And so I poisoned that dear little girl
Down under the bank below
I stobbed her with a dagger,
Which was a bloody knife,
I threw her in the river,
Which was a dreadful sight
My father often told me
That money would set me free,
If I would murder that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connelly
And now he sits in his own cottage door,
a wiping his weeping eye,
And now he waits for his own dear son,
Upon the scaffold high
My race is run beneath the sun,
Lo, hell's now waiting for me,
For I have murdered that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connelly