Barbara Allen - Original - Doris Day

Oh, in the merry month of May

When green buds they were swellin'

Young Tommy Jones on his death bed lay

For love of Barbara Allen

He sent his men unto her then

To the place where she was dwellin'

«You must come to my master, dear

If your name be Barbara Allen»

So slowly, slowly she came up

And slowly she came at him

But all she said when she came there

«Young man, I think you’re dyin»

«If on your death bed you do lie

What needs a tale you’re tellin'

I cannot keep you from yourself

Farewell», said Barbara Allen

He turned his face unto the wall

As deadly pangs he fell in

Farewell, farewell, farewell to all

Farewell to Barbara Allen