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I'mAm old Tom Moore from theG bummer's shore In the Amgood old Ggolden Amdays. They call me a bummer and a Ggin sot, too But Amwhat cares GI for Ampraise I Cwander around from Amtown to town C Just like a roving Amsign, And Call the people all say "TAmhere goes Tom Moore in the Gdays of '4Am9. In the Fdays of old, in the Cdays of gold How Foftentimes I reCpine For the Fdays of old when we Cdug up the gold In the Amdays 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