Hello again!

Rather unbelievably, a co-worker just gave me the book it's ACTUALLY from, which is not the above. It's Dwyer, Richard (editor), The Songs of the Gold Rush. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1964.

Here are the lyrics.

NOTE: I'm including the version's last, extremely racist verse with my teeth gritted. I have an obligation to quote the source book accurately, I suppose, even if I hate it! I'm pretty sure Alan didn't sing that verse -- in fact, it may well be why he didn't produce the source for me.

Claire

THE DAYS OF '49

C. Rhoades (Bensell)
[Rhoades is listed as Charley Rhodes (no A) elsewhere in the book; I have no idea who Bensell is.]

Here you see old Tom Moore
A relic of bygone days.
A bummer too they call me now
But what care I for praise
For my heart is filled with woe
And I often grieve and pine,
For the days of old, the days of gold,
The days of '49.

I had comrades then a saucy set
They were rough I must confess.
But staunch and brave, as true as steel,
Like hunters from the West;
But they like many another fish
Have now run out their line
But like good old bricks they stood the kicks
Of the days of '49.

There was Monte Pete, I'll ne'er forget
The luck that he always had,
He'd deal for you both night and day,
Or as long as you had a scad.
One night a pistol laid him out,
'Twas his last lay out in fine,
It caught Pete sure, right bang in the door,
In the days of '49.

There was another chap from New Orleans
Big Reuben was his name,
On the plaza there with a sardine box
He opened a faro game,
He dealt so fair that a millionaire
He became in course of time,
Till death stept in and called the turn
In the days of '49.

There was Kentuck Bill, one of the boys,
Who was always in for a game;
No matter whether he lost or won
To him 'twas all the same.
He'd ante a slug; he'd pass the buck;
He'd go a hat full blind
In the game of death, Bill lost his breath
In the days of '49.

There was New York Jake, the butcher boy
So fond of getting tight.
Whenever Jake got full of gin
He was looking for a fight.
One night he ran against a knife
In the hands of old Bob Kline
And over Jake we had a wake
In the days of '49.

There was North Carolina Jess, a hard old case,
Who never would repent.
Jess never was known to miss a meal
Or ever pay a cent.
But poor old Jess like all the rest
To death did at last resign,
And in his bloom he went up the flume
In the days of '49.

There was Hackensack Jim who could out roar
A buffalo bull you bet.
He roared all night; he roared all day
He may be roaring yet.
One night he fell in a prospect hole
'Twas a roaring bad design,
And in that hole roared out his soul
In the days of '49.

Of all the comrades I had then
There's none left now but me,
And the only thing I'm fitting for
Is a Senator to be;
The people cry as I pass by,
"There goes a traveling sign;
That's old Tom Moore, a bummer sure,
of the days of '49."

Since that time how things have changed
In this land of liberty;
Darkies didn't vote nor plead in court
Nor rule this country,
But the Chinese question, the worst of all
In those days did not shine,
For the country was right and the boys all white
In the days of '49.

Text and music: "The Days of '49," arr. by E. Zimmer (San Francisco: Sherman and Hyde, 1876).

P.S. I think Alan added this last bit, listed as the chorus in the version currently in the DT, as a postscript after the last verse, but it's not in the book:

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.