Days Of 49

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 cares I for praise I wander around from town to town Just like a roving sign, and all the people all say "There goes Tom Moore in the days of '49. In the days of old, in the days of gold How oftentimes 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