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Skupina:
BOB DYLAN
Album:
Self Portrait
Leto:
1970
Naslov pesmi:
Youtube:
Besedilo pesmi:
I'm ol' Tom Moore from the bummers shore in the 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 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 ofttimes 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 Then Jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of ol' 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 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 day's 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 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 ofttimes 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 sure 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 ofttimes I repine In the days of old, in the days of gold In the days of 49, oh
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