Reel 304 #5
Collected by Raymond W. Whittier Sung by:
For M.C. Parlor Irene Sargent
Transcribed by Raymond W. Whittier West Fork, Arkansas
December 9, 1960
The Days of Forty-Nine
You're gazing now on old Tom Moore, a relic of by-gone days.
It's a boom or two they call me now but what care I for praise.
It's often I sigh for the days gone by, it's often I recline, repine For the days of old, when they dug out geld, in the days of forty-nine.
My comrades they all love me well, a jolly, salty crew.
A few hard cases I will admit though they were brave and true.
Whatever they pinched, they never would finched, they never would
bricks, fret nor whine. flinch
Like good old grits, they stood the kicks, in the days of forty-nine.
There's Monte Pete I'll never forget the luck he always had,
He'd deal for you both day and night as long as he had a scad.
Was a pistol shot that layed Pete out, it was his last resigh.
They caught Pete dead sure in the door in the days of forty-nine.
There's Rack Jack Jim, the roaring man, could out-roar a buffalo, you bet. He'd roar all day and roar all night and I guess he's roaring yet.
One day he fell in a prospect hole with a roaring mad design.
And in the hole Jim roared out his soul, in the days of forty-nine.
Of all the comrades that I had, there's none that's left to boast.
I'm left alone in my misery like some poor wandering ghost.
And as I tramp from town to town they call me the rambling sign,
Of the days of old when they dug out gold, in the days of forty-nine.
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