| I’ve traveled all over this country
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| Prospectin' and diggin' for gold
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| I’ve tunneled, hydraulic-ed, and cradled
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| And I have been frequently sold
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| And I have been frequently so-o-old
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| And I have been frequently sold
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| I’ve tunneled, hydraulic-ed, and cradled
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| And I have been frequently sold
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| For each man who got rich by mining
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| Perceiving that hundreds grew poor
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| I made up my mind to try farming:
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| The only pursuit that was sure
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| So rollin' my grub in my blanket
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| I left all my tools on the ground
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| I started one mornin' to shank it
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| For the country they call Puget Sound
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| For the country they call Puget So-o-ound
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| For the country they call Puget Sound
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| I started one mornin' to shank it
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| For the country they call Puget Sound
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| Arriving flat broke in midwinter
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| I found it enveloped with fog
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| And covered all over with timber
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| Thick as hair on the back of a dog
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| As I looked at the prospects so gloomy
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| The tears trickled over my face
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| And I thought that my travels had brought me
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| To the end of the jumpin' off place
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| To the end of the jumpin' off pla-a-ace
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| To the end of the jumpin' off place
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| I thought that my travels had brought me
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| To the end of the jumpin' off place
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| But now as I look all around me
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| Observing the world and its shams
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| I think of my happy condition
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| Surrounded by acres of clams
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| Surrounded by acres of cla-a-ams
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| Surrounded by acres of clams
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| I think of my happy condition
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| Surrounded by acres of clams
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| Surrounded by acres of clams
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| By acres of clams |