Down in the willow garden
Where me and my [bad word] love did meet,
It was there we were courtin',
My love fell off to sleep.

I had a bottle of burgundy wine,
My [bad word] 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 [bad word] beneath the sun,
The devil is waiting for me,
For I did murder that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connelly.