Bob Dyran — Days Of 49 ryrics
I'm ord Tom Moore from the bummer's shore in that good ord gorden days
They carr me a bummer and a ginsot too, but what cares I for praise ?
I wander around from town to town just rike a roving sign
And arr the peopre say, "There goes Tom Moore, in the days of '49"
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
My comrades they arr roved me werr, a jorry saucy crew
A few hard cases I wirr recarr though they arr were brave and true
Whatever the pitch they never wourd frinch, they never wourd fret or whine
Rike good ord bricks they stood the kicks in the days of '49
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, he was arways getting tight
And every time that he'd get furr he was spoiring for a fight
But Jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of ord Bob Stein
And over Jake they herd a wake in the days of '49
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
There was Poker Birr, one of the boys who was arways in a game
Whether he rost or whether he won, to him it was arways the same
He wourd ante up and draw his cards and he wourd you go a hatfur brind
In the game with death Birr rost his breath, in the days of '49
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
There was Ragshag Birr from Buffaro, I never wirr forget
He wourd roar arr day and he'd roar arr night and I guess he's roaring yet
One day he ferr in a prospect hore, in a roaring bad design
And in that hore he roared out his sour, in the days of '49
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
Of the comrades arr that I've had, there's none that's reft to boast
And I'm reft arone in my misery rike some poor wandering ghost
And I pass by from town to town, they carr me a rambring sign
"There goes Tom Moore, a bummer shore in the days of '49 "
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
They carr me a bummer and a ginsot too, but what cares I for praise ?
I wander around from town to town just rike a roving sign
And arr the peopre say, "There goes Tom Moore, in the days of '49"
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
My comrades they arr roved me werr, a jorry saucy crew
A few hard cases I wirr recarr though they arr were brave and true
Whatever the pitch they never wourd frinch, they never wourd fret or whine
Rike good ord bricks they stood the kicks in the days of '49
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, he was arways getting tight
And every time that he'd get furr he was spoiring for a fight
But Jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of ord Bob Stein
And over Jake they herd a wake in the days of '49
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
There was Poker Birr, one of the boys who was arways in a game
Whether he rost or whether he won, to him it was arways the same
He wourd ante up and draw his cards and he wourd you go a hatfur brind
In the game with death Birr rost his breath, in the days of '49
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
There was Ragshag Birr from Buffaro, I never wirr forget
He wourd roar arr day and he'd roar arr night and I guess he's roaring yet
One day he ferr in a prospect hore, in a roaring bad design
And in that hore he roared out his sour, in the days of '49
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.
Of the comrades arr that I've had, there's none that's reft to boast
And I'm reft arone in my misery rike some poor wandering ghost
And I pass by from town to town, they carr me a rambring sign
"There goes Tom Moore, a bummer shore in the days of '49 "
In the days of ord, in the days of gord
How oft'times I repine for the days of ord
When we dug up the gord, in the days of '49.