歌曲名 Days Of 49

歌手名 Bob Dylan

作词：Traditional

作曲：Traditional

I'm ol' Tom Moore from the bummers shore

In the 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 rovin' 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 ofttimes 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

Then Jake rampaged against

A knife in the hands of ol' 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 a 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's 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 roarin' 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 ofttimes 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 sure 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 ofttimes I repine

In the days of old in the days of gold

In the days of 49 oh