Days of 49 Bob Dylan
I'm[Am] old Tom Moore from the[G] bummer's shore
In the [Am]good old [G]golden [Am]days.
They call me a bummer and a [G]gin sot, too
But [Am]what cares [G]I for [Am]praise
I [C]wander around from [Am]town to town
[C] Just like a roving [Am]sign,
And [C]all the people all say "There [Am]goes Tom Moore
in the [G]days of '4[Am]9.
In the [F]days of old, in the [C]days of gold
How [F]oftentimes I re[C]pine
For the [F]days of old when we [C]dug up the gold
In the [Am]days 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
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