| Thirty miles out in the Gulf Stream
|
| I can hear them south winds moan
|
| The bridges are looking lower
|
| The shrimp boats are hurrying home
|
| The old man down in the Quarter
|
| Slowly turned his head
|
| Took another sip from his whiskey bottle
|
| And looked at me and he said
|
| Said, I was born in the rain by the Pontchartrain
|
| Underneath the Louisiana moon
|
| I don’t mind the strain of a hurricane
|
| They come around every June
|
| High black water, a devil’s daughter
|
| She’s hard and she’s cold and she’s mean
|
| But nobody’s taught her that it takes a lot of water
|
| To wash away New Orleans
|
| A man come down from Chicago
|
| Gonna set that levee right
|
| It’s got to be up about three feet higher
|
| Won’t make it through the end of the night
|
| The old man down in the Quarter
|
| Said, «Don't you listen to that boy!»
|
| The water will be down by morning, son
|
| And he’ll be back on his way to Illinois
|
| 'Cause I was born in the rain by the Pontchartrain
|
| Underneath the Louisiana moon
|
| I don’t mind the strain of a hurricane
|
| They come around every June
|
| High black water, a devil’s daughter
|
| She’s hard and she’s cold and she’s mean
|
| But we finally taught her that it takes a lot of water
|
| To wash away New Orleans
|
| Thirty miles out in the Gulf Stream
|
| I can hear them south winds moan
|
| The bridges are looking lower
|
| The shrimp boats are hurrying home
|
| The old man down in the Quarter
|
| Slowly turned his head
|
| Took another sip from his whiskey bottle
|
| And looked at me and he said
|
| He said, I was born in the rain by the Pontchartrain
|
| Underneath the Louisiana moon
|
| I don’t mind the strain of a hurricane
|
| They come around every June
|
| High black water, a devil’s daughter
|
| She’s hard and she’s cold and she’s mean
|
| But nobody’s taught her that it takes a lot of water
|
| To wash away New Orleans
|
| You know I was born in the rain by the Pontchartrain
|
| Underneath the Louisiana moon
|
| I don’t mind the strain of a hurricane
|
| They come around every June
|
| All this high black water, a devil’s daughter
|
| Hard and it’s cold and it’s mean
|
| And we finally taught her that it takes a lot of water
|
| To wash away New Orleans |