Oh come to the place where they struck it rich
Come where the treasure lies hid
Where your hatful of mud is a five-pound note
And a clod on your heel is a quid.

Oh they scratches the earth and it tumbles out
More than your hands can hold
For the hills above and the plains beneath
Are crackin’ and bustin’ with gold:

Chorus
Klondike! Klondike!
Label your luggage for Klondike
Oh there ain’t no luck in the town today
There ain’t no work down Moodyville way
Pack up your traps and be off, I say
Off and away to the Klondike.

CC: Not long after my father came to British Columbia, gold was struck in the Klondike, in the Yukon: and this is a song that I have never heard anywhere else: this is a song that the miners apparently sang when they left for the Klondike.