Ned McGowan was a crooked judge from San Francisco way
As vigilantes purged the town, McGowan slipped away
To the goldfields of the Fraser where he quickly drew acclaim
With the wave of "Forty-niners" from Californ-i-ay, In the year of '58

As winter came, the gravel froze, so they couldn't pan for gold
Bravado mixed with whiskey, as they tried to beat the cold
Up pipes Ned McGowan "boys, are ya feeling very bold?"
What say we all kick up a fuss and start ourselves a war?

If you lived to be a hundred, and you roamed the wide world over
You'd never live to see the likes of Ned McGowan's war

In the town of Yale that Christmas day, two of McGowan's men
Pistol-whipped the barber and they snuck right back again
To Hill's Bar and Ned McGowan, and he tells them never fear,
For the Justice of the Peace has no jurisdiction here
And we'll turn him on his ear!"

When word came back to Hill's Bar that their constable was gaoled
They deputized McGowan's men to bring him back from Yale
They stormed into the courtroom, took the Justice custody
Then they fined him fifty dollars and they went out on a spree

If you lived to be a hundred, and you roamed the wide world over
You'd never live to see the likes of Ned McGowan's war