In 1849 they came from everywhere
Came from distant lands to California fair
They left their lives behind them to chase a golden dream
Poor gold miners - it wasn't what it seemed
They turned over rocks until their hands bled with pain
They tore through every mountain like wild men gone insane
They faced the wild Sierras and died for their lust
Yet only a handful of miners got rich off yellow dust
Even today their toil scars the land
All the way from Nelson Creek to the "Hydraulic Band"
Some people claim they can hear their ghosts at night
Poor gold miners - you fought a losing fight