I wish I wish my love were free and sat below the magnolia tree
But me poor girl is dead and gone and the green gra** grows o'er the graves below
And I ain't heard, nor never will be, till the sweet apple grows on the sour apple tree
I wish I wish my love had died and set her soul to wander free
Then we might meet where ravens fly and let our poor bodies rest in peace
And I ain't heard no never ill be till the sweet apple grows on the sour apple tree
And I ain't heard nor never will be till the sweet apple grows on the sour apple tree