There's old "Aunt Jess," that hard old cuss, Who never would repent; He never missed a single meal, Nor never paid a cent. But old "Aunt Jess," like all the rest, At death he did resign, And in his bloom went up the flume In the days of Forty-Nine. There is Ragshag Jim, the roaring man, Who could out-roar a buffalo, you bet, He roared all day and he roared all night, And I guess he is roaring yet. One night Jim fell in a prospect hole,-- It was a roaring bad design,-- And in that hole Jim roared out his soul In the days of Forty-Nine. There is Wylie Bill, the funny man, Who was full of funny tricks, And when he was in a poker game He was always hard as bricks. He would ante you a stud, he would play you a draw, He'd go you a hatful blind,-- In a struggle with death Bill lost his breath In the days of Forty-Nine. There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, Who was fond of getting tight. And every time he got on a spree He was spoiling for a fight. One night Jake rampaged against a knife In the hands of old Bob Sine, And over Jake they held a wake In the days of Forty-Nine. There was Monte Pete, I'll ne'er forget The luck he always had, He would deal for you both day and night Or as long as he had a scad. It was a pistol shot that lay Pete out, It was his last resign, And it caught Pete dead sure in the door In the days of Forty-Nine. Of all the comrades that I've had There's none that's left to boast, And I am left alone in my misery Like some poor wandering ghost. And as I pass from town to town, They call me the rambling sign, Since the days of old and the days of gold And the days of Forty-Nine. Days of Forty-Nine (Mus. Not.) You are gaz-ing now on old Tom Moore, A rel-ic of by-gone days; 'Tis a bum-mer now they call me. But what cares I for praise; It is oft, says I, for days gone by, It's oft do I repine For those days of old when we dug out the gold, In the days of For-ty-nine, In those days of old when we dug out the gold, In the days of For-ty-nine. JOE BOWERS My name is Joe Bowers, I've got a brother Ike, I came here from Missouri, Yes, all the way from Pike. I'll tell you why I left there And how I came to roam, And leave my poor old mammy, So far away from home. I used to love a gal there, Her name was Sallie Black, I asked her for to marry me, She said it was a whack. She says to me, "Joe Bowers, Before you hitch for life, You ought to have a little home To keep your little wife." Says I, "My dearest Sallie, O Sallie, for your sake, I'll go to California And try to raise a stake." Says she to me, "Joe Bowers, You are the chap to win, Give me a kiss to seal the bargain,"-- And I throwed a dozen in.