How come that blood on your coat sleeve?
Son come telling to me.
Well it is the blood of the little guinea jayhawk
That flew away from me.

But it is too red for that my son.
Come now telling to me.
So it is the blood of the little yella dog
That ran beside of me.

But it's too red for dog's blood, my son.
Come now be truthful with me.
Then it is the blood of the little spotted pony
That plowed a furrow for me.

No it's not the blood of a horse my son.
Oh why do you lie to me?
For it is the blood of my own brother dear
Whom I murdered most cruelly.
Dear mother please pity me.

What did you boys fight about?
Come now telling to me.
Well we fell out about a sprout
That might have been a tree.

And what will you do when your father comes home?
Son come telling to me?
Well I'll set my foot on yonder ship
And sail across the sea.

And what of your wife, your blushing June bride?
And pretty young children three?
Well they'll stay here with you mother dear
And them never no more will I see.