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Ho Chin

My name is Ho Chin and I come from China
Now I live in San Francisco Bay
It’s 1849 and I’m a young man
Seems that I have traveled far away
I cook potatoes for the gold rush minors
So many men they’re panning all the time
They came out west, I came out east, don’t matter
Their dreams are just as crazy as mine
Dreamin’ of a good life - dreamin’ of a rich life
Dreamin’ of a fine life - dreamin’ of a good life

On Sundays I make sweet rolls for the minors
They say some kind of grace, they’ve combed their hair
But back to work, no rest for greedy minors
When you can taste the gold dust in the air
You can taste the good life - you can taste the rich life
You can taste the fine life - you can taste the good life

Now there’s a special room, where the diggers weigh their gold
So carefully it’s measured, so carefully it’s sold
These men are large and burly, rude, rough and clumsy
Distrustful of each other always pushing in a hurry
To go and find a woman, hook up on good liquor
The air is full of remnants of their toil

Twice a week I go and clean the pay room
I take a feather down upon my knees
And there, between the floor boards I find gold dust
And tiny little nuggets just for me - just for me

My name is Ho Chin and I come from China
But I don’t live in China anymore
For eight years in the California Gold Rush
I cooked potatoes and I swept the floor
Sweeping up a good life
Sweeping up a rich life
Sweeping up a fine life
Sweeping up a good life.

©1993 Sally Fingerett, Green Fingers Music, BMI