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Days of 49

Bob Dylan/Self Portrait

Am G Am G Am
I'm old Tom Moore from the bummer's shore in the good old golden days.
G Am G Am
They call me a bummer and a gin-sot, too, but what cares I for praise
C Am C Am
I wander 'round from town to town, just like a roving sign,
C Am G Am
And the people all say "There goes Tom Moore in the days of '49.
Am F C F C
In the days of old, in the days of gold, how oftentimes I repine
F C Am
For the days of old when we dug up the gold, In the days of '49.
There was Nantuck Bill, I knew him well, a feller 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. 
In the days of old... 
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. 
In the days of old... 
There was poor old Jess, the old lame cuss; He never would relent. 
He 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. 
In the days of old... 
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, 
And in that hole roared out his soul in the days of '49 
In the days of old... 

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