This version overlaps with the one in Lomax but there are some small differences:

From SONGS OF THE RANCH AND RANGE, ©1932 Paull-Pioneer Music Corp., NYC

The Days of Forty-Nine

You are gazing now at old Tom Moore,
A relic of bygone days;
Tis a bummer now they call me,
But what cares I for praise!
It’s oft, says I, for days gone by,
It’s oft I do repine,
For the days of old, when we dug out the gold,
In those days of Forty-Nine.

My comrades all, they loved me well,
The saucy, jolly crew;
A few hard cases I’ll admit,
Though they were brave and true;
What e’er the pinch, they ne’er would flinch;
They ne’er would fret nor whine;
Like good old bricks they stood the kicks,
In the days of Forty-Nine.

Refrain:

Like good old bricks they stood the kicks,
In the days of Forty-Nine.

There’s old “Aunt Jess” that hard old cuss,
Who never would repent;
He never missed a single meal,
And 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. (REF)

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’s roaring yet;
One night Jim fell in a prospect hole;
‘Twas a roaring bad design,
And in that hole roared out his soul,
In the days of Forty-Nine. (REF)

There is Wylie Bill, the funny man,
Who was full of funny tricks,
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 would go you a hatful blind;
In a struggle with death Bill lost his breath,
In the days of Forty-Nine (REF)

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. (REF)

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;
‘Twas a pistol shot that laid Pete out,
It was his last resign,
And it caught Pete dead sure in the door,
In the days of Forty-Nine. (REF)

Of all the comrades that I’ve had
There’s none that’s left to boast,
And I’m 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.