Lyrics:

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