歌曲名 Days Of 49 (Without Overdubs, Self Portrait)

歌手名 Bob Dylan

作词：Traditional

作曲：Traditional

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 of the' 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 of the' 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 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 of the' 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 day of gold

In the days of I repine

In the days of old in the day of gold

In the 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 of the 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 poor wandering ghost

And I pass by from town to town they call me a 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 of the times I repine for the days of old

When we dug up the gold in the days of '49

In the days of old in the days of gold

How often times I repine

In the days of old in the days of gold

In the days of 49