This version has been mentioned in another thread. Here’s my transcription, from Spotify:


THE MILLER’S WILL
As recorded by the New Lost City Ramblers on “New Lost City Ramblers, Vol. 4” (1962)

There was an old miller and he lived all alone,
And had three sons all fully grown.
When the time come to make out a will,
All he had left was a little grist mill.

CHORUS: Sing-a fall-dig-a-die-doe, fall-dig-a-day.

He called to him his eldest son,
Said: “Son, O son, my race is run.
If I a miller of you make,
Pray tell me what toll you’d take.” CHORUS

“Father, O 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 make a rise.” CHORUS

He called to him his second son,
Said: “Son, O son, my race is run.
If I a miller of you make,
Pray tell me what toll you’d take.” CHORUS

“Father, O father, my name is Ralph.
Out of each bushel, I’d take half.”
“Not enough, not enough!” the old man said.
“On such a little you’ll never get ahead.” CHORUS

He called to him his youngest son,
Said: “Son, O son, my race is run.
If I a miller of you make,
Pray tell me what toll you’d take.” CHORUS

“Father, O father, my name is Paul.
Out of each bushel, I’d take all.”
“Hallelujah!” The old man cried.
Then he turned up his toes and he died. CHORUS

They buried him in a little box grave.
Some do not think his soul was saved.
Where he went I cannot say,
But I rather believe that he went the other way. CHORUS