We headed for Hangtown in ‘49,
But never showed till ‘50.
Between us we had nary a dime.
Suffice it to say, we was thrifty!
The Sierra Nevada’s are god-awful high!
And the trail is rugged at best.
Ma took one look and groaned, “Oh my!
We should have stayed home with the rest!”
The crick ain’t iced up like they say.
August heat is quick to thaw it.
It’s just for wadin‘anyway.
If there’s gold, I never saw it!
The housing in Hangtown leaves much to desire.
That’s the case every place we went.
But Ma and me’s tough, there ain’t much we require.
And we had a luxurious tent!
The tent’s mighty cozy, but lacks for room.
The dirt floor had to suffice;
Damp as the dickens and cold as a tomb!
The first year I froze to death twice!
The wood stove was nice if ya sat on the lid.
A bonfire would be better, I’m thinkin’.
When it dropped below thirty, as often it did,
It froze finials right off of the Franklin!
Flatlanders are welcome, despite what you hear.
You won’t hang; I can barely conceive it!
We’ve oodles of gas and we’re known for our beer!
Bring plenty of cash, and please leave it!
If you’ve got a hankerin’ for livin’ on beans
Out west, where it’s generally sunny,
Then check out the gold camps, and by all means.
Visit Hangtown, and bring lots o’ money!
S. T. Casebeer