Town of Vicksburg- Nancy Philley (AR) 1959 Parler N
[Ozark Folk Song Collection- online; Reel 310, Item 9. Collected by Mary C. Parler. See also Parler O.
Listen: http://digitalcollections.uark.edu/cdm/singleitem/collection/OzarkFolkSong/id/1250/rec/20
R. Matteson 2106]
Town of Vicksburg- sung by Nancy Philley of Eudora, Ark. (Collected in Fayetteville, Ark.) June 2, 1959
'Twas in the town of Vicksburg,
A town you all know well,
'Twas in the town of Vicksburg,
They ran a flour mill.
'Twas there I met a pretty fair maid
With dark and roguish eyes
But little did that fair maid know
I loved her in disguise.
I called at her sister's house
One night about 8 o'clock;
I asked her if she'd take a walk
And of course she said all right.
We walked along and we talked along,
Till we came to level ground;
And there I picked up a sycamore stick
And knocked that fair maiden down.
She fell to the ground on bending knees,
"Oh Lord have mercy," she cried.
"Oh Willie, dear, don't murder me here,
For I'm unprepared to die."
But little did her pleading take
I only struck her more
Until the ground around her
Was in a bloody flow[1].
I ran my fingers through her hair
To cover up my sin
I carried her to the river's edge
And there I plunged her in.
I called at my sister's house
That night about 12 o'clock
My mother being weary,
Awakened in a fright.
My son, my son, what have you done
To bloody your hands and clothes?
The answer that I gave to her
Was bleeding at the nose.
I asked her for a handkerchief
To ease my aching head;
I asked her for a candlestick
To light my way to bed.
I rolled and I tumbled,
No comfort could I find,
For the flames of Hell around me rolled,
And in my eyes did shine.
Three months, three weeks, three days from then
That dark-haired girl was found,
A-floating down the river's edge
Close by a well known town.
Her sister swore her life away,
She swore without a doubt,
She swore that I was the very young man
Who laid her sister out.
They took me on suspicion,
They placed me in a jail,
I had no one to get me out,
No one to go my bail.
So here I am in this awful place,
A dreadful death to die,
To hang up twenty-eight feet high
Between the earth and sky.
Come all young men, and warning take
Before it is too late;
Don't ever let the devil get
The upper hand of fate.
1. Usually "gore"