Texty: Woody Guthrie. Don’t Kill My Baby And My Son.

As I walked down that old dark town

In the town where I was born,

I heard the saddest lonesome moan

I ever heard before.



My hair it trembled at the roots

Cold chills run down my spine,

As I drew near that jail house

I heard this deathly cry:



O, don't kill my baby and my son,

O , don't kill my baby and my son.

You can stretch my neck on that old river bridge,

But don't kill my baby and my son.



Now, I've heard the cries of a panther,

Now, I've heard the coyotes yell,

But that long, lonesome cry shook the whole wide world

And it come from the cell of the jail.



Yes, I?ve heard the screech owls screeching,

And the hoot owls that hoot in the night,

But the graveyard itself is happy compared

To the voice in that jailhouse that night.



Then I saw a picture on a postcard

It showed the Canadian River Bridge,

Three bodies hanging to swing in the wind,

A mother and two sons they'd lynched.



There's a wild wind blows down the river,

There's a wild wind blows through the trees,

There's a wild wind that blows 'round this wide wide world,

And here's what the wild winds say:



O, don't kill my baby and my son,

O, don't kill my baby and my son.

You can stretch my neck on that old river bridge,

But don't kill my baby and my son.