The Miller's Will

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