Days Of 49 Lyrics - Selfportrait - Bob Dylan

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 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 oft'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's 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 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 the game with death bill lost his breath, in the days of '49 

in the days of old, in the days of gold 

in the day of 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 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 oft'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 ol' poor wandering ghost 

and i pass by from town to town, they call me the 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 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 oft'times i repine in the days of old 

in the days of gold, in the days of '49 

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