I choose not to see the things that be,
Or the miles and years that are gone.
I pay no heed to tomorrow's need,
I'm blinded by the snow and the sun,
'til all I could see is my darlin' and me,
Like young flowers bloomin' in spring.
Like flowers we grew, and no other I knew,
But the Rose of the San Joaquin.
Ah! the gypsies will dance, while stealing a glance
At a seed that might blow in the wind.
And the fields are worked in a sweat stained shirt,
Till the workers move on again.
And the tramps and hawkers, with stories wild,
Beguiled a young boy ta' dream,
Enticing me to leave my love,
The Rose of the San Joaquin.
I've watched the rise of light in the sky
Where the sun climbs out of the sea.
Seen giants fall in the mountains tall,
Where the lumbermen cut down the trees.
I played in the sand with the gulf coast wind,
And slept in the grass tall and green.
But nowhere I've been would I go back again,
Except to the San Joaquin.
But the road back home it's long and it's hard,
And the miles, they stretch into years.
And the tramps and hawkers in every town,
Oh God, but it brings me to tears.
When I got home I found just a flower on a mound That shamed the green grasses of spring.
An' it grew from the grave of my darlin' little girl,
The Rose of the San Joaquin.
Oh see us today out on your highway,
Or asleep in the doors of a train.
See the gypsies dance with their d***ed knowin' glances,
While the peddlers shout out their refrain.
And who's gonna care, and who's gonna share
All the joys, an' troubles we've seen?
Like ghosts, we roam, without friends or home,
These tramps, and hawkers and me.
Like ghosts, we roam, without friends or home,
These tramps, and hawkers and me.
Or the miles and years that are gone.
I pay no heed to tomorrow's need,
I'm blinded by the snow and the sun,
'til all I could see is my darlin' and me,
Like young flowers bloomin' in spring.
Like flowers we grew, and no other I knew,
But the Rose of the San Joaquin.
Ah! the gypsies will dance, while stealing a glance
At a seed that might blow in the wind.
And the fields are worked in a sweat stained shirt,
Till the workers move on again.
And the tramps and hawkers, with stories wild,
Beguiled a young boy ta' dream,
Enticing me to leave my love,
The Rose of the San Joaquin.
I've watched the rise of light in the sky
Where the sun climbs out of the sea.
Seen giants fall in the mountains tall,
Where the lumbermen cut down the trees.
I played in the sand with the gulf coast wind,
And slept in the grass tall and green.
But nowhere I've been would I go back again,
Except to the San Joaquin.
But the road back home it's long and it's hard,
And the miles, they stretch into years.
And the tramps and hawkers in every town,
Oh God, but it brings me to tears.
When I got home I found just a flower on a mound That shamed the green grasses of spring.
An' it grew from the grave of my darlin' little girl,
The Rose of the San Joaquin.
Oh see us today out on your highway,
Or asleep in the doors of a train.
See the gypsies dance with their d***ed knowin' glances,
While the peddlers shout out their refrain.
And who's gonna care, and who's gonna share
All the joys, an' troubles we've seen?
Like ghosts, we roam, without friends or home,
These tramps, and hawkers and me.
Like ghosts, we roam, without friends or home,
These tramps, and hawkers and me.