I came from Salam city
with a wash bowl on my knee,
I am 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 California that's the land for me;
I'm going to Sacramento with a wash bowl
on my knee.
I'll be in San Francisco soon
and then I'll look around,
and when I see the gold lumps there,
I'll pick them off the ground.
I'll scrap the mountains clean my boys,
I'll drain the rivers dry,
a pocketful of rocks bring home,
so brothers don't you cry.