There was a storyteller who lived in my hometown
We'd visit him on dreary days and watch the rain pour down
T'was only tea and small talk 'til his wife went off to bed
Then out would come the stories and a bottle of rum instead
One night his face grew solemn, his voice went awful low
He told a tale of pirates who sailed down the Hillsborough
Beneath a willow tree they buried treasures of the best
And nailed a cross onto that tree to mark their hidden chest
I'd go and find that treasure, if I was not so old
But if you burly boys can dig it up we'll split the gold
And so the deal was struck, we could scarcely hold our smiles
As he leaned in and whispered the directions to our prize
Walk along the railroad tracks
Turn down McKenna's field
Keep walking to the shore
To find that cross upon a tree
Then take your shovel to the earth
You're sure to find a trove
A real arresting sight to see
The Gold at Oyster Cove
'Twas early the next morning when we set off on our quest
Our feet a' flying through the dew to reach that treasure chest
And when we came upon the cove, we stood in awe to see
Just as the storyteller claimed, a cross upon a tree
So we commenced to digging, and finding naught but rocks
'Til six feet down our shovels tapped upon a wooden box
Then all at once we heard the sound of hoof prints drawing close
We turned around in shock to see a lawman on a horse
He said put down your shovels, and don't you try and run
You're going to the jailhouse for the crime that you have done
When I awoke this morning, a telegram I found
That told of robbers heading for the Settler's Burial Ground
Walk along the railroad tracks
Turn down McKenna's field
Keep walking to the shore
To find that cross upon a tree
Then take your shovel to the earth
You're sure to find a trove
A real arresting sight to see
The Gold at Oyster Cove
The object of our digging was alas no treasure chest
But some poor settler's coffin that had long been laid to rest
And though we tried to make our case, the lawman would not budge
Said he you'll have to save your petty pouting for the judge
It seemed that storyteller, had mischief in his eye
His tale of pirate treasure, it was nothing but a lie
For we were no grave robbers but a grave mistake we made
To trust the storyteller, for the devil he had played
So now in cramped confinement we wait to be set free
While drink in hand, the storyteller laughs and slaps his knee
So take heed to my warning, just as the adage says
If something sounds too rosy to be true it always is
Walk along the railroad tracks
Turn down McKenna's field
Keep walking to the shore
To find that cross upon a tree
Then take your shovel to the earth
You're sure to find a trove
A real arresting sight to see
The Gold at Oyster Cove