It was two summers ago when
Bobby came to Youngstown
And I believe he was only 25 years old
But he longed for the right to speak his mind
So he left those big city lights behind
All he wanted was land to let his life unfold

So he sang . . .
Good Lord, pull me under
Sweet Jesus, lay me down
All I want is a life
Can it be in Youngstown?

Now the autumn was near, and leaves fell all around him
So he'd harvest the land and reap all of its yield
With a smile on his face, he looked out on his country
For he knew not what lay right on the edge of his field
The body of a young boy was found on Bobby's land
The townspeople only saw it must have came from Bobby's hand
He said "This can't happen to me, I've done nothing wrong!"
And as they carried him away, he still sang his song

Sunday afternoon they hung Bobby in the rain
There was no jury, there was no trial
Then a man in Wood County confessed to the crime
It wasn't Bobby all the while

Well the reason I tell you my story
While my thoughts aren't far away
Because I was a man who judged another man
And I was the man who tied the rope
On that day