This song may have its origin in the songs of African-Americans.
Orlando Kay Armstrong, 1931, "Old Massa's People," has one of the slaves, awaiting sale in Savannah, singing (quoted from Belden):

I don' mind dyin', but I got to go by myself (2x),
Oh, I don' mind dyin', if dyin' was all.
Lawd, I don' mind dyin', if dyin' was all!

The song in Belden, collected by Miss Frances Barbour, 1917, from Minnie Doyal of Arlington, Missouri:

Lyr. Add: THE GAMBLER

My father was a gambler, he learnt me how to play,
My father was a gambler, he learlt me how to play,
Saying, 'Son, don't go a-begging when you hold the ace and trey,
When you hold the ace and trey.'

Chorus:
Hang me, O hang me, and I'll be dead and gone,
Hang me, O hang me, and I'll be dead and gone;
I wouldn't mind the hangin', it's been gone so long,
It's layin' in the grave so long.

They took me down to old Fort Smith as sick as I could be,
They took me down to old Fort Smith as sick as I could be,
They handed me a letter saying, 'Son, come home to me,'
Saying, 'Son, come home to me.'

My father and my mother and my little sister makes three,
My father and my mother and my little sister makes three,
They all came up to the gallows to see the last of me,
To see the last of me.

They put the rope around my neck and drew me very high,
They put the rope around my neck and drew me very high,
And the words I heard 'em sayin' was 'It won't be long till he'll die,
It won't be long till he'll die.'

Belden, H. M., ed., 1940, "Ballads and Songs Collected by the Missouri Folk-Lore Society, Univ. Missouri Studies, No. 15, no. 1,
pp. 472-473, no music.

Belden also quotes from N. I. White, 1928, "American Negro Folk Songs," , p. 78, in part. Here is White's complete entry from his section on religious songs:
"Reported from Durham, NC, 1925, MS of N. I. White. Sung by Ed Lloyd, Creedmoor, NC.

You can play the ace and trey,
But it sho' will lead you astray.
It's awful sad when the Holy Ghost is gone.

You can weep and you can moan,
But hell goin' be yo' home.
It's awful sad when the Holy Ghost is gone.

You can play the ace and deuce,
But God'll ketch you with no excuse.
It's awful sad when the Holy Ghost is gone.

You can pass the whiskey round,
But you must lay yo' body down.
It's awful sad when the Holy Ghost is gone.

Also reported from Durham, 1919, "Sung by a cripple Negro on the street," W. B. Jeffrey.