The Gold-Digger’s Lament.
I am going far away from my creditors just now,
I ain’t got the tin to pay ’em, and they’re kicking up a row;
There’s the sheriff running after me with pockets full of writs,
And my tailor’s vowing vengeance, he swears he’ll give me fits.
There’s no room for speculation, and the mines ain’t worth a flam,
And I ain’t one of those lucky coves that works for Uncle Sam;
Whichever way I turn I am sure to meet a dun,
“So I think the best thing I can do is just to cut and run.”
I wish those “tarnal critters” that wrote home about the gold,