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Текст песни BOB DYLAN - Days Of 49

BOB DYLAN - Days Of 49 слова песни



Текст песни BOB DYLAN - Days Of 49




I'm old Tom Moore from the bummer's shore in that good old golden daysThey 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 signAnd all the people say, "There goes Tom Moore, in the days of '49"In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft'times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.( )My comrades they all loved me well, a jolly saucy crewA few hard cases I will recall though they all were brave and trueWhatever the pitch they never would flinch, they never would fret or whineLike good old bricks they stood the kicks in the days of '49In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft'times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, he was always getting tightAnd every time that he'd get full he was spoiling for a fightBut Jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of old Bob SteinAnd over Jake they held a wake in the days of '49In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft'times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.There was Poker Bill, one of the boys who was always in a gameWhether he lost or whether he won, to him it was always the sameHe would ante up and draw his cards and he would you go a hatful blindIn the game with death Bill lost his breath, in the days of '49In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft'times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.There was Ragshag Bill from Buffalo, I never will forgetHe would roar all day and he'd roar all night and I guess he's roaring yetOne day he fell in a prospect hole, in a roaring bad designAnd in that hole he roared out his soul, in the days of '49In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft'times I repine for the days of oldWhen 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 poor wandering ghostAnd I pass by from town to town, they call me a rambling sign"There goes Tom Moore, a bummer shore in the days of '49 "In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft'times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.




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