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I come from Salem City with my washbowl on my knee,
I'm going to California, the gold dust for to see.
It rained all day the day I left, the weather it was dry
The sun so hot I froze to death Oh brothers, don't you cry.

cho: Oh, California, that's the land for me
I'm bound for San Francisco with my washbowl on my knee.

I jumped aboard ihe Liza ship and traveled on the sea,
And every time I thought of home I wished it wasn't me;
The vessel reared like any horse, that had of oats and wealth
I found it wouldn't throw me so I thought I'd throw myself.

I thought of all ihe pleasant times we've had together here
I thought I ought to cry a bit but couldn't find a tear;
The pilot's bread was in my mouth, the gold dust in my eye
And though I'm going far away dear brothers don't you cry.

I soon shall be in Frisco, and there I'll look around,
And when I see the gold lumps I'll pick them off the ground-
I'll scrape the mountains clean, my boys, I'll drain the rivers dry
A pocket full of rocks bring home so brothers, don't you cry.

from A Folk Song History of America, Forlucci
note: just one parody of a very popular song.
@parody @gold @emigrate @mining
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