There was an old miller and he lived alone
Had three sons all fully grown
When the time came to make out his will
All he had left was a little grist mill
Sing a fol-dig-a-di-oh, fol dig-a-day
He called to him his eldest son
Said, “son, oh son, my race is run
If I a miller of you make
Pray tell me what toll you take?”
Sing a fol-dig-a-di-oh, fol dig-a-day
Father, oh father, my name is Bill
Out of each bushel I’d take a gill
You fool you fool the old man cries
On such a little you’ll never get a rise
Sing a fol-dig-a-di-oh, fol dig-a-day
He called to him his, second son
Said, “son, oh son, my race is run
If I a miller of you make
Pray tell me what toll you’d take?”
Sing a fol-dig-a-di-oh, fol dig-a-day
Father, oh father, my name is, Ralph
Out of each bushel I’d take half
Not enough, not enough the old man said
Such a little you’d never get ahead
Sing a fol-dig-a-di-oh, fol dig-a-day
He called to him his youngest son
Said, “son, oh son, my race is run
If I a miller of you make
Pray tell me what toll you would take?”
Sing a fol-dig-a-di-oh, fol dig-a-day
Father, oh father, my name is Paul
Out of each bushel I’d take all
Hallelujah, the old man cried
Then he turned up him toes, and he died
Sing a fol-dig-a-di-oh, fol dig-a-day
They buried him in a little box grave
Some do not think his soul was saved
Where he went I could not say
But I rather believe he went the other way
Sing a fol-dig-a-di-oh, fol dig-a-day
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