Cat. #0371 (MFH #635) - As sung by Mr. Fred High, High, Arkansas on July 14, 1959
VERSE 1
O brother, O brother, will ya roll th stone for me
Or throw th ball for me
No, for am to little an' I am to young
Pray brother, let me alone
VERSE 2
He drawed his knife all from his side
And it hung from gore to gore
An' he pierced it in to his own brothers side
An' at th blood did pour
VERSE 3
O brother, O brother, tear th shirt off'a my back
An' tear it from gore to gore
An' tie up those bleeding wounds
That they may not bleed no more
VERSE 4
He tore his shirt all from his back
An' 'e tore it from gore to gore
An' he tied up those bleeding wounds
But still they bled the more
(Now then, he died but I can't hardly get th rest of that jest right)
VERSE 5
O brother, O brother, take me t' th graveyard
Bury my spellin' book at my side
An' my bow an' arr' at my feet
An' th Bible under my head
So sweetly I will sleep
VERSE 6
O brother, O brother, when you go home
My Father, will ask for me
O, pray tell 'im, I'm alone with my little schoolmates
So early I'll be at home
VERSE 7
O brother, O brother, when you go home
My Mother, will ask for me
O, pray tell 'er, I'm gone to New Orleans
A long sorrow lesson for t' learn
VERSE 8
O brother, O brother, when you go home
My sister, will ask for me
O, pray tell 'er, I'm in my cold grave deep
No more she'll see of me
(Then, he went ahead an' told th girl)
VERSE 9
An' she harped and she harped
Th little birds all out'a th nest
And 'er own brother out'a th tomb
(She liked t' cried 'erself t' death)
Fred said, he forgot part of it, long an' about.