I came from Salem City
With my washpan 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, brothers don't you cry.
Oh, Susannah, Oh, don't you cry for me
I'm going to California with my washpan on my knee.
I soon shall be in Frisco
And there I'll look around.
And when I see the gold 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.