(C. Monroe)
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 a morowful sight

My father often told me
That money 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 eyes
Gazing on his only 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