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Klondike 
Klondike 
Oh, come to the place where they struck it rich, Come where the treasure lies hid! Where your hat full of mud is a five-pound note And a clod on your heel is a quid! 
cho: 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. So pack up your traps and be off, I say, Off and away to the Klondike! 
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! 
From Songs of the Pacific Northwest, Thomas APR99