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Oh, come to the place where they struck it rich,
Come where the treasure lies hid!
Where your hat full of mud is a five-pound note
And a clod on your heel is a quid!

cho: Klondike! Klondike!
     Label your luggage for Klondike.
     Oh, there ain't no luck in the town today;
     There ain't no work down Moodyville way.
     So pack up your traps and be off, I say,
     Off and away to the Klondike!

Oh, they scratches the earth and it tumbles out,
More than your hands can hold;
For the hills above and the plains beneath
Are crackin' and bustin' with gold!

From Songs of the Pacific Northwest, Thomas

E-Book - An Annotated Compendium of Old Time American Songs by James Alverson III