I was born
On a South Dakota farm.
Fields of corn,
And golden grain below the barn.
A nickel from
My poor old mom.
Said "Go my son,
To the old mans' country store."
There I found
A rocking chair beside the door.
He reeked of rum.
Asked why I'd come.
But I was young,
I held my tongue.
He grabbed me by my shirt,
The smell of alcohol and dirt.
He spoke of diamonds
And riches yet untold.
In his eyes I saw it shining
Like the nickel in my coat.
Though he seemed ill,
I came closer still.
There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills.
And boy if we don't find it then somebody surely will,
There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills.
...
Well the man, his words,
They came to haunt me in my sleep.
And so I saved
My pennies up for weeks.
I gave to him
My savings.
He stroked his chin.
He walked right in.
He returned with his arms filled.
A pair of shovels and of pails.
Said "We're headed for the hills,
Theres no time for farewells."
...
There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills.
And boy if we don't find it then somebody surely will.
There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills.
...
There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills.
And boy if we should find it then, Lord, I shoot to kill.
There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills.
There is gold in these hills, there is gold in these hills.
...
I never was the spineless sort,
But the hours are long and the handles' short.
Well the man passed on some years ago,
Buried with his name and some prayer I know.
Digging ditches in the dirt,
I have found Hell on earth.
And all the riches aren't worth
The Devil's Curse.
No matter how you count,
No they don't amount
To the Devil's work.