Days Of 49 acordes

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I'm old Tom Moore from the bummer's shore in the good old golden days 
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They call me a bummer and a ginsot too, but what cares I for praise?
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I wander around from town to town just like a roving sign
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And all the people say, "There goes Tom Moore, in the days of '49"
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In the days of old, in the days of gold
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How oft'times I repine for the days of old
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When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.

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My comrades they all loved me well, a jolly saucy crew
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A few hard cases I will recall though they all were brave and true
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Whatever the pinch they never would flinch, they never would fret or whine
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Like good old bricks they stood the kicks in the days of '49
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In the days of old, in the days of gold
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How oft'times I repine for the days of old
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When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.

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There was New York Jake, the butcher's boy, he was always getting tight
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And every time that he'd get full he was spoiling for a fight
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But Jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of old Bob Stein
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And over Jake they held a wake in the days of '49
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In the days of old, in the days of gold
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How oft'times I repine for the days of old
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When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.

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There was Poker Bill, one of the boys who was always in a game
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Whether he lost or whether he won, to him it was always the same
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He would ante up and draw his cards and he would you go a hatfull blind
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In the game with death Bill lost his breath, in the days of '49    'oh my goodness'
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In the days of old, in the days of gold
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In the day'times I repine in the days of old
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In the days of gold, those where days of '49.

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There was Ragshag Bill from Buffalo, I never will forget
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He would roar all day and he'd roar all night and I guess he's roaring yet
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One day he fell in a prospect hole, in a roaring bad design
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And in that hole he roared out his soul, in the days of '49
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In the days of old, in the days of gold
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How oft'times I repine for the days of old
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When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.

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Of the comrades all that I've had, there's none that's left to boast
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And I'm left alone in my misery like some poor wandering ghost
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And I pass by from town to town, they call me the rambling sign
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"There goes Tom Moore, a bummer shore in the days of '49 "
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In the days of old, in the days of gold
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How oft'times I repine for the days of old
        C                       Am
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
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And the days of old when we dug up the gold
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How oft'times I repine In the days of old
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In the days of gold in the days of '49.  wooh!