I come from Salem City with my washbowl on my knee,
I'm 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 brother, don't you cry.
Oh, California, that's the land for me,
I'm off for San Francisco with my washbowl on my knee.
I jumped aboard the largest ship and traveled on the sea,
And every time I thought of home, I wished it wasn't me!
The vessel reared like any horse that had of oats a wealth,
I found it wouldn't throw me, so I thought I'd throw myself!
Oh, California, that's the land for me,
I'm off for San Francisco with my washbowl on my knee.
I thought of all the pleasant times we've had together here,
And I thought I ought to cry a bit, but I could not find a tear.
The pilot's bread was in my mouth, the gold dust in my eye,
And though I'm going far away, dear brother, don't you cry.
Oh, California, that's the land for me,
I'm off for San Francisco with my washbowl on my knee.
And when I get to Frisco boys, then I'll look around,
And when I see the golden lumps there, I'll pick them off the ground.
I'll scrape the mountains clean, my boys, I'll drain the rivers dry,
A pocketful of rocks bring home, so brothers, don't you cry.
Oh, California, that's the land for me,
I'm off for San Francisco with my washbowl on my knee.

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