The Days of Forty Nine



I'm old Tom Moore from the bummer's shore

In the good old golden days.

They call me a bummer and a gin sot, too

But what care I for praise

I wander around from town to town

Just like a roving sign,

And the people all say "There goes Tom Moore

Of the days of '49.



cho:

In the days of old, in the days of gold

How often I repine

For the days of old when we dug up the gold

In the days of '49.



There was Nantuck Bill, I knew him well,

A feller that was fond of tricks.

At a poker game he was always there

And heavy with his bricks.

He would ante up and draw his cards

And go in a hatfull blind

In a game of bluff, Bill lost his breath

In the days of '49.



There was New York Jake, a butcher boy

He was always getting tight.

And every time that he got full

He was always hunting a fight.

One night he run up against a knife

In the hands of old Bob Kline

And over Jake they held a wake

In the days of '49.



There was poor old Jess, the old lame cuss

He never would relent.

Her never was known to miss a drink

Or ever spend a cent.

At length old Jess like all the rest

Who never would decline,

In all his bloom went up the flume

In the days of '49.



There was roaring 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 night he fell in a prospector's hole

In a roaring bad design,

In in that hole roared out his soul

In the days of '49



recorded by Frank Warner

filename[ DAYSOF49

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