| I traveled from Texas to old Louisanne
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| Through valleys, o’er mountains and plains
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| Both footsore and weary I rested awhile
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| On the banks of the old Pontchartrain
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| The fairest young maiden that I ever saw
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| Passed by as it started to rain
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| We both found a shelter beneath the same tree
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| On the banks of the old Pontchartrain
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| We hid from the shower an hour or so
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| She asked me how long I’d remain
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| I told her that I’d spend the rest of my days
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| On the banks of the old Pontchartrain
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| I just couldn’t tell her that I ran away
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| From jail on a West Texas plain
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| I prayed in my heart I would never be found
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| On the banks of the old Pontchartrain
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| Then one day a man put his hand on my arm
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| And said I must go west again
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| I left her alone without saying goodbye
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| On the banks of the old Pontchartrain
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| Tonight as I sit here alone in my cell
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| I know that she’s waiting in vain
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| I’m hoping and praying someday to return
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| On the banks of the old Pontchartrain |