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.

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.

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.

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.

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