Tom: C
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It was one fine March morning I bid New Orleans adieu,
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and I took the road to Jackson town, my fortune to renew.
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I cursed all foreign mo..ney, no credit could I gain,
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till I fell in love with the Creole girl by the lakes of Pontchartrain.
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She took me into her Mamma's house, and treated me right well,
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the hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell.
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To try and paint her beauty, I knew, it would be in vain,
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so handsome was my Creole girl by the lakes of Pontchartrain.
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I asked her if she'd marry me, she said that ne'er could be,
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for she had got a lover and he was far at sea.
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She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain,
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till he'd return to his Creole girl on the lakes of Pontchartrain.
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It's fare thee well, my Creole girl, I never will see you more,
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I won't forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore.
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And at each social gathering, a flowing bowl I'll drain,
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and I'll drink a health to my Creole girl by the lakes of Pontchartrain.
