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Days of '49
Dylan Bob
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I'm old Tom Moore from the bummer's shore in that good old golden days
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They call me a bummer and a ginsot too, but what cares I for praise?
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I wander around from town to town just like a roving sign
And all the people say, "there goes Tom Moore, in the days of '49"
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In the days of old, in the days of gold
How often times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49
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My comrades they all loved me well, a jolly saucy crew
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A few hard cases I will recall though they all were brave and true
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Whatever the pitch they never would flinch, they never would fret or whine
Like good old bricks they stood the kicks in the days of '49
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In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49
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There was new york jake, the butcher's boy, he was always getting tight
And every time that he'd get full he was spoiling for a fight
But jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of old bob stein
And over jake they held a wake in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How often times i repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49
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There was poker bill, one of the boys who was always in a game
Whether he lost or whether he won, to him it was always the same
He would ante up and draw his cards and he would you go a hatful blind
In the game with death bill lost his breath, in the days of '49
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In the days of old, in the days of gold
In the day of times i repine in the days of old
In the days of gold, those were days of '49
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There was ragshag bill from buffalo, i never will forget
He would roar all day and he'd roar all night and i guess he's roaring yet
One day he fell in a prospect hole, in a roaring bad design
And in that hole he roared out his soul, in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times i repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49
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Of the comrades all that i've had, there's none that's left to boast
And i'm left alone in my misery like some ol' poor wandering ghost
And i pass by from town to town, they call me the rambling sign
"there goes tom moore, a bummer shore in the days of '49"
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In the days of old, in the days of gold
How often times i repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49
In the days of old, when we dug up the gold
How oft'times i repine in the days of old
In the days of gold, in the days of '49
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