Days of '49

I'm old Tom Moore from the bummer's 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 often times 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 oft'times 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's boy, he was always getting tight
 And every time that he'd get full he was spoiling for a fight
 But 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 often times 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 he'd roar all night and i guess he's 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 oft'times i repine for the days of old
 When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49
 ♪
 Of the comrades all that i've had, there's none that's left to boast
 And i'm left alone in my misery like some ol' poor wandering ghost
 And i pass by from town to town, they call me the 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, when we dug up the gold
 How oft'times i repine in the days of old
 In the days of gold, in the days of '49