I'm ol' Tom Moore from the bummers' shore
In the the good ol' golden days
They call me a bummer and a ginsot too
But what cares I for praise
I wander round 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 oftimes 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 gettin' tight
And every time that he'd got booked
He was spoiling for a fight
That Jake rampaged against a knife
In the hands of ol' Bob Stein
An' 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 days 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 roarin' 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 oftimes 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 wanderin' ghost
And I pass by from town to town
They call me the ramblin' sign
There goes Tom Moore, a-bummer's 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 oftimes I repine
For the days of old, in the days of gold
In the days of '49