Bob Dylan — Days of 49
Album: Self PortraitAvg rating:
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Total ratings: 467
Length: 5:23
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I'm old Tom Moore from the bummer's shore in that good old golden days
They 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 sign
And all the people say, "There goes Tom Moore, in the days of '49"
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
My comrades they all loved me well, a jolly saucy crew
A few hard cases I will recall though they all were brave and true
Whatever the pitch they never would flinch, they never would fret or whine
Like good old bricks they stood the kicks in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, he was always getting tight
And every time that he'd get full he was spoiling for a fight
But Jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of old Bob Stein
And over Jake they held a wake in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
There was Poker Bill, one of the boys who was always in a game
Whether he lost or whether he won, to him it was always the same
He would ante up and draw his cards and he would you go a hatful blind
In the game with death Bill lost his breath, in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
There was Ragshag Bill from Buffalo, I never will forget
He would roar all day and he'd roar all night and I guess he's roaring yet
One day he fell in a prospect hole, in a roaring bad design
And in that hole he roared out his soul, in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When 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 ghost
And 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 gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
They 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 sign
And all the people say, "There goes Tom Moore, in the days of '49"
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
My comrades they all loved me well, a jolly saucy crew
A few hard cases I will recall though they all were brave and true
Whatever the pitch they never would flinch, they never would fret or whine
Like good old bricks they stood the kicks in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, he was always getting tight
And every time that he'd get full he was spoiling for a fight
But Jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of old Bob Stein
And over Jake they held a wake in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
There was Poker Bill, one of the boys who was always in a game
Whether he lost or whether he won, to him it was always the same
He would ante up and draw his cards and he would you go a hatful blind
In the game with death Bill lost his breath, in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
There was Ragshag Bill from Buffalo, I never will forget
He would roar all day and he'd roar all night and I guess he's roaring yet
One day he fell in a prospect hole, in a roaring bad design
And in that hole he roared out his soul, in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When 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 ghost
And 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 gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
Comments (26)add comment
bruceandjenna wrote:
Being able to understand what he is singing surprisingly increases my appreciation of Bob's lyrics. Giving this one a 7.
I often don't tolerate his singing. But this one exists on another plane, at least for me.
Classic.
Classic.
Being able to understand what he is singing surprisingly increases my appreciation of Bob's lyrics. Giving this one a 7.
If you all get a chance to see live Dylan on current tour, do it!
He sounds great! No, really. Best I've heard him in years. Even those NYC folks think so.
He sounds great! No, really. Best I've heard him in years. Even those NYC folks think so.
This is art
Broken_Ear wrote:
That's cuz you have a broken ear.....or is that why you have a broken ear? Either way, I'll go with a 7 on this 'new-to-my-ears' Dylan track. LLRP!!
My God, I am trying to write something and this guy keeps shouting in my ear, had to turn it way down. First time hearing and could be the worst of His Dylanness.
That's cuz you have a broken ear.....or is that why you have a broken ear? Either way, I'll go with a 7 on this 'new-to-my-ears' Dylan track. LLRP!!
Yahooooo!
Getting on the road, gonna see Bob two times in October, in the land of Highway 61 .
Maybe go for a third and forth show. Until the money runs out.
Getting on the road, gonna see Bob two times in October, in the land of Highway 61 .
Maybe go for a third and forth show. Until the money runs out.
Just remember...
Everything's gonna be different, when he paints his masterpiece.
And it's all gonna sound like a rhapsody.
Ha!
Everything's gonna be different, when he paints his masterpiece.
And it's all gonna sound like a rhapsody.
Ha!
I often don't tolerate his singing. But this one exists on another plane, at least for me.
Classic.
Classic.
Insufferable.
My God, I am trying to write something and this guy keeps shouting in my ear, had to turn it way down. First time hearing and could be the worst of His Dylanness.
Wheee! Bobbie is singing! Somewhat on key! In one octave, or so. Keeps us in the story of lyrics.
As much as I like King Bob, this long-ish tune reminds me that Self Portrait was the first of his albums that had me scratching my head a bit. I still think it has quite the mix of good, bad and indifferent material. And I can see that this tune could fall in all three categories depending on one's perspective.
Brilliant songwriter, but man this is a good example of what turns me off of Dylan.
Been a while since I heard this gem!
Terrific song.
Terrific song.
Agreed........
gregskrtic wrote:
Well said!
zepher wrote:
zepher wrote:
Man, Dylan can Tell a story. I never heard this one and think crybabies need to read the lyrics and appreciate all the gifts Dylan left us all. These songs will outlive the youngest RP listener and some cuts will be performed forever. The Picasso-style self-portrait album cover is great illustration of an amazing songwriter and poet.
LowPhreak wrote:
Ditto.
There's just too much "Classic Dylan Hater" (read: "whininess, myopicness, and repetitiveness") in the posts. It just grates on me.
Ditto.
Well said!
zepher wrote:
zepher wrote:
Man, Dylan can Tell a story. I never heard this one and think crybabies need to read the lyrics and appreciate all the gifts Dylan left us all. These songs will outlive the youngest RP listener and some cuts will be performed forever. The Picasso-style self-portrait album cover is great illustration of an amazing songwriter and poet.
A gem. Unfortuante so many haters bring the average down on this one. Should be well over 7...maybe an 8.
Dylan's lyrics are from a place most of us can only hope to go. We're lucky to have lived in his era...
Dylan's lyrics are from a place most of us can only hope to go. We're lucky to have lived in his era...
Man, Dylan can Tell a story. I never heard this one and think crybabies need to read the lyrics and appreciate all the gifts Dylan left us all. These songs will outlive the youngest RP listener and some cuts will be performed forever. The Picasso-style self-portrait album cover is great illustration of an amazing songwriter and poet.
Joyfulchristine wrote:
There's just too much "Classic Dylan Hater" (read: "whininess, myopicness, and repetitiveness") in the posts. It just grates on me.
As I listened I gathered the thoughts I wanted to express in the comments, but you beat me to it! Every single point I wanted to address is most succintly expressed in the post above. All I have left to say is, well said!
There's just too much "Classic Dylan Hater" (read: "whininess, myopicness, and repetitiveness") in the posts. It just grates on me.
Originally Posted by jruhnke:
I like the lyrics, and I like the message he's expressing, but there's just too much "Classic Dylan" (read: "whininess, nasalness, and repetitiveness") in the refrain. It just grates on me. He loses me after the second verse, but unfortunately there are still four...more...to go! Augh! Please, make it stop!!! 
As I listened I gathered the thoughts I wanted to express in the comments, but you beat me to it! Every single point I wanted to address is most succintly expressed in the post above. All I have left to say is, well said!
I like the lyrics, and I like the message he\'s expressing, but there\'s just too much \"Classic Dylan\" (read: \"whininess, nasalness, and repetitiveness\") in the refrain. It just grates on me. He loses me after the second verse, but unfortunately there are still four...more...to go! Augh! Please, make it stop!!!
As inscrutable as Self Portrait was, a Dylan pattern seems to emerge over the decades: clearly he loved old folk and blues tunes, returning to them for sustenance at different points in his career.
And I'm left alone in my misery like some poor wandering ghost
And 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.