The Two Brothers
Monday morning go to school,
Friday evening home.
Brother, comb my sweetheart's hair
As we go walking home
Brother, won't you play a game of ball ?
Brother, won't you toss a stone ?
Brother, won't you play no other game
As we go marching home ?
I can't play no game of ball,
I can't toss no stone,
I can't play no other game.
Brother, leave me alone.
Brother took out his little penknife,
It was sharp and keen.
He stuck it in his own brother's heart,
It caused a deadly wound.
Brother, take off your little check shirt,
Stitched from gore to gore;
Bind it around the deadly wound.
It won't bleed no more.
Brother took off his little check shirt,
Stitched from gore to gore ;
Bound it around the deadly wound.
It didn't bleed no more.
Brother, O brother, go dig my grave,
Dig it wide and deep.
Bury my bible at my head,
My hymn book at my feet.
He buried his bible at his head,
His hymn book at his feet,
His bow and arrow by his side,
And now he's fast asleep.
From English Folk Songs in the Southern Appalachians, Sharp
Collected from Mrs. Lizzie Roberts and Mrs. Smith, NC 1916