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