Eli, the barrowboy, you're the old town
Sells coal and marigolds and he cries out all down the day
Below the tamarac she is crying

Corn cobs and candlewax for the buying, all down the day

Would I could afford to buy my love a fine robe

Made of gold and silk arabian thread
She is dead and gone and lying in a pine grove
And I must push my barrow all the day

And I must push my barrow all the day

Eli, the barrowboy, when they found him

Dressed all in corduroy, he had drowned in the river down the
way
They laid his body down in a churchyard

But still when the moon is out, with his pushcart, he calls down
the day


Would I could afford to buy my love a fine gown
Made of gold and silk arabian thread
But I am dead and gone and lying in a church ground

But still I push my barrow all the day
Still I push my barrow all the day