R. Stevie Moore
Never Let The Devil Get The Upper Hand Of You
One, two three
My tender parents brought me up
Provided for me well
Was in the sea of plants and town
They placed me in a mill
It was there I spied a pretty fair miss
On whom I cast my eye
I asked her if she'd marry me
And she believed a lie
Three weeks ago, last Saturday night
Of course it was the day
The devil put it in my mind
To take her life away
I went into her sister's house
At 8:00 one night
But little did the creepеr think
On her I had my spy
I asked her if shе'd take a walk
With me a little way
That she and I might have a talk
About our wedding day
We walked along until we came
To my little desert place
I grabbed a stick up off the fence
And struck her in the face
I run my fingers through her cold, black hair
To cover up my sins
I brought her to the riverside
And there I plunged her in
I started back into my mill
I met my servant, John
He asked me why I was so pale
And yet so very warm
Come all young men and morning wake
And tell your lovers be true
And never let the devil get
The upper hand of you