In the Spring of forty-seven

So the story, it is told

Old John Sutter went to the mill sideFound a piece of shining gold.

Well, he took it to the city

Where the word, like wildfire, spread.

And old John Sutter soon came to wish he′d

Left that stone in the river bed.

For they came like herds of locusts

Every woman, child and man

In their lumbering Conestogas

They left their tracks upon the land...

Some would fail and some would prosper

Some would die and some would kill

Some would thank the Lord for their deliverance

And some would curse John Sutter's Mill.

Well, they came from New York City

And they came here at Alabam′

With their dreams of finding fortunes

In this wild unsettled land.

Well, some fell prey to hostile arrows

As they tried to cross the plains.

And some were lost in the Rocky Mountains

With their hand froze to the reins

Oh, some would fail and some would prosper

Some would die and some would kill

Some would thank the Lord for their deliverance

And some would curse John Sutter's Mill...

Some pushed on to California

Rather stopped to take their rest.

And by the Spring of Eighteen-sixty

They had opened up the west.

And then the railroad came behind them

And the land was plowed and tamed

When Old John Sutter went to meet his maker

He'd not one penny to his name.

Oh, some would fail and some would prosper

Some would die and some would kill

Some would thank the Lord for their deliverance

And some would curse John Sutter′s Mill.

And some would curse John Sutter′s Mill

Some men's thirsts are never filled.