| They all, were losers, | |
| And none had a dime. | |
| And they all drew pictures, | |
| Of what was stored in their minds. | |
| Questions and answers, | |
| Filled with fables and rhymes. | |
| Headed west was a '49er, | |
| To stake his new shrine. | |
| Some never made, | |
| Their dreams come to life. | |
| Many men fell, | |
| From a gun or a knife. | |
| They grew old and weary, | |
| And ashamed, | |
| Of the stories they told, | |
| And the wealth that they gained. | |
| But the road, was a rough one, | |
| Wind and hills were their foe. | |
| And no man, was a low man, | |
| They were too young to know. | |
| Headed west was a 49er, | |
| Get rich quick, live life finer. | |
| On and on and on, the story goes. | |
| Some never made, | |
| Their dreams to life. | |
| Many men fell, | |
| From a gun or a knife. | |
| They grew old and weary, | |
| And ashamed, | |
| Of the stories they told, | |
| And the wealth that they gained. | |
| Now rich man, and poor, | |
| Aren't equal to one. | |
| And they follow the stars, | |
| Once the journey's begun. | |
| Shines the gleam, in their eye, | |
| And the song in their heart. | |
| If the land don't shred his mind, | |
| It'll tear his soul apart. | |
| Some never made, | |
| Their dreams come to life. | |
| Many men fell, | |
| From a gun or a knife. | |
| They grew old and weary, | |
| And ashamed, | |
| Of the stories they told, | |
| And the wealth that they gained. | |
| Some never made, | |
| Their dreams come to life. | |
| Many men fell, | |
| To a gun or a knife. | |
| They grew old and weary, | |
| And ashamed, | |
| Of the stories that told, | |
| And the wealth that they gained. | |
| That they gained. |