I came from Salem City with my washpan on my knee
I’m going to California, the gold dust for to see.
It rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry
The sun so hot I froze to death, Oh, brothers don’t you cry.
Oh, Susannah, Oh, don’t you cry for me
I’m going to California with my washpan on my knee.
I soon shall be in Frisco and there I’ll look around.
And when I see the gold lumps there, I’ll pick them off the ground.
I’ll scrape the mountains clean, my boys, I’ll drain the rivers dry.
A pocketful of rocks bring home, So, brothers don’t you cry.
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