Days Of 49   ~~~~~~~~~~      Im old tom moore from the bummers shore in that good old golden days   They call me a bummer and a ginsot too, but what cares I for praise ?    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   In the days of old, in the days of gold   How ofttimes I repine for the days of old   When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.      My comrades they all loved me well, a jolly saucy crew   A few hard cases I will recall though they all were brave and true   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   In the days of old, in the days of gold   How ofttimes I repine for the days of old   When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.      There was new york jake, the butcher boy, he was always getting tight   And every time that hed get full he was spoiling for a fight   Then 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 ofttimes I repine for the days of old   When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.      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   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.      There was ragshag bill from buffalo, I never will forget   He would roar all day and hed roar all night and I guess hes 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 ofttimes I repine for the days of old   When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.      Of the comrades all that Ive had, theres none thats left to boast   And Im left alone in my misery like some poor wandering ghost   And I pass by from town to town, they call me a rambling sign   There goes tom moore, a bummer shore 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.   In the days of old, in the days of gold   How ofttimes I repine for the days of old   When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.