Fair Annalee- Driftwood (Ark.) 1969 Hunter Rec.
[From: Max Hunter Folk Song Collection; text edited for spelling,
R. Matteson 2012]
Fair Annalee - As sung by Jimmy (Driftwood) Morris, Timbo, Arkansas on August 30, 1969 Listen: http://maxhunter.missouristate.edu/songinformation.aspx?ID=0898
VERSE 1
O Mother, O Mother, come riddle to me
Come riddle to me alone
Shall I be married t' fair Annalee
Or bring the grown girl ho-o-ome
Or bring the brown girl home
VERSE 2
Th brown girl she has horses and lands
Fair Annalee she hath none
The Mother replied, if I may decide
Go bring the brown girl ho-o-ome
Go bring the brown girl home
VERSE 3
He mounted upon to his shinning black steed
An' rode to fair Annalee's glen
An' there was no lady more ready than she
To arise an' welcome him i-i-in
To arise an' welcome him in.
VERSE 4
What news, what news, Lord Thomas, she cried
Sad news, sad news, cried he
I've come to invite you to my wedding feast
O Lord, have mercy o me-e-e
O Lord, have mercy on me
VERSE 5
He took her in at his Mother's front door
An' down the hall so wide
An' he set her down at the head of them all
Close by the brown girl's si-i-de
Close by the brown girl's side
VERSE 6
Th brown girl took out'a dagger of bone
It's edge was keen an' sharp
She pierced it thru fair Analee's clothes
An' stabbed into her hear-ar-art
An' stabbed into her heart
VERSE 7
Lord Thomas, Lord Thomas, fair Annalee cried
Lord Thomas, Lord Thomas, cried she
My Lord cain't you see the red blood of my heart
A trickling all out of me-e-e
A trickling all out of me
VERSE 8
He took the brown girl by her long yellow hair
An' dragged 'er away to the door
He took out his knife an' he cut off her head
An' it rolled all over the floo-o-or
It rolled all over the floor
VERSE 9
He put his sword against his own breast
And leaned up a against the wall
Said, this is the last of three lovers lives
And I am the last of them a-a-all
And I am the last of them all.
VERSE 10
O Mother, O Mother, go dig me a grave
Both long and wide an' deep
Bury my fair Annalee in my arms
An' the brown girl under my fe-e-et
An' the brown girl under my feet
VERSE 11
Three apple trees sprang from Lord Thomas's grave
An' those who taste them repeat,
That one of the three was a crabapple-tree
An' the other two so swe-e-et
The other two were so sweet