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We've formed our band and we are all well manned
To journey afar to the promised land
Where the golden ore is thick in store
On the banks of the Sacramento

Cho: Then, ho, boys, ho! to California go,
For the mountains bold are covered with gold
On the banks of the Sacramento.
Heigh ho! away we go, digging up gold in Frisco.

Oh, the gold is thar most anywhar.
They dig it out with an iron bar.
And where it's thick, with a spade and pick.
They've taken out lumps as big as a brick.

Oh, don't you cry or heave a sigh,
For we'll come back again, bye and bye.
Don't have a fear or shed a tear,
But patiently wait for about two years.

We expect our share of the coarsest fare,
And sometimes sleep in the open air.
Upon the cold ground, we will sleep sound,
Except when the wolves come howling round.

Then we'll roam o'er the dark sea foam,
But we'll never forget kind friends at home,
For memory kind will bring to mind
The thoughts of those we've left behind.

In the days of old, the prophet told
Of the city to come all paved with gold.
Peradventure they forsaw the day
Now dawning upon California.

From the book, "Songs the Whalemen Sang," by Gale Huntington, 1964.
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