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Message: <blockquote data-quote="TheAuldGrump" data-source="post: 2084584" data-attributes="member: 6957">Mining...Sixteen TonsSome people say a man is made outta mud.A poor man's made outta muscle and blood.Muscle and blood, skin and bones;A mind that's weak and a back that's strong.You load sixteen tons an' what do you get?Another day older deeper and debt.St Peter don't you call me I cause can't go:I owe my soul to the company store.Well, I was born one mornin' when the sun didn't shine.I picked up a shovel, Iwalked out to the mine.I loaded sixteen tons of Number 9 coal,An' the store boss said: "Well, bless my soul."You load sixteen tons an' what do you get?Another day older deeper and debt.St Peter don't you call me I cause can't go:I owe my soul to the company store.Well, I was born one mornin', it was drizzlin' rain.Fightin' an' trouble are my middle name.I was raised in the canebreak by an old mama lion,Can't no high-toned woman makes me walk the line.You load sixteen tons an' what do you get?Another day older deeper and debt.St Peter don't you call me I cause can't go:I owe my soul to the company store.Well, if you see me comin', better step aside.A lotta men didn't; a lotta men died.One fist of iron, the other of steel.If the right one don't get you, then the left one will.You load sixteen tons an' what do you get?Another day older deeper and debt.St Peter don't you call me I cause can't go:I owe my soul to the company store.Days of '49I’m old Dan Moore from the bummer’s shore in those good old golden daysThey call me a bummer and a gin sot too, but what cares I for praise ?I wander 'round from town to town like some kind of roving signAnd the people say, there goes Dan Moore, of the days of ’49In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft’times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of ’49.My comrades all they loved me well, a jolly saucy crewA few hard cases I will admit though they all were brave and trueWhatever the pinch they ne'er would flinch, they never would fret or whineLike good old bricks they stood the kicks in the days of ’49In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft’times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of ’49.There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, he was always getting tightAnd every time that he’d get full he was spoiling for a fightBut jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of old Bob PinesAnd over Jake they held a wake in the days of ’49In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft’times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of ’49.There was Poker Bill, one of the boys, who was always in for a gameWhether he lost or whether he won, to him it was always the sameHe would ante up and draw his cards and he would you go a hatful blindBut In the game with death Bill lost his breath, in the days of ’49In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft’times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of ’49.There was Roarin' Bill from Buffalo, I never will forgetHe would roar all day and he’d roar all night and I guess he’s roaring yetHe roared into a prospect hole, in a roaring bad designAnd in that hole he roared out his soul, in the days of ’49In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft’times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of ’49.There was North Carolina Jess, a hard old case, Who never would repent.Jess was never known to miss a meal, Or ever pay a cent.But poor old Jess, like all the rest, To death did at last resign,And in his bloom, he went up the flume, In the days of ‘49.In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft’times I repine for the days of oldWhen 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 boastAnd I’m left alone in my misery like some poor wandering ghostAnd I pass by from town to town, they call me a rambling signThere goes Dan Moore, a bummer sure, in the days of ’49In the days of old, in the days of goldHow oft’times I repine for the days of oldWhen we dug up the gold, in the days of ’49.The Auld Grump</blockquote>

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