In the Spring of Forty-seven, So the story, it is told,
Old John Sutter went to the mill site Found 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 from 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 hands 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.
Well, some pushed on to California And others 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, With 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.