Текст песни Lakes of Ponchartrain - Martin Simpson

Through streams and bogs and under bush, I made my weary way,
Though windfalls thick and devil's floods, my aching feet did stray.
Until at last by evening start, on higher ground I gained,
And there I met with a Creole girl, by the Lakes of Pontchartrain.

Good evening to you Creole girl, my money is no good,
Although I fear the 'gaitors, well I must defend the wood.
You are welcome here kind stranger, my house is very plain,
But we never turn a stranger out, by the Lakes of Pontchartrain.

She took me to her mammy's house, and she treated me right well,
The hair around her shoulders, in them jet black ringlets fell.
I'd try to describe her beauty, but I find the words in vain,
So beautiful that Creole girl, by the Lakes of Pontchartrain.

Well I asked if she'd marry me, she said that could not be,
Because she loved a sailor, and he's far away at sea.
She said that she would marry him, and true she would remain,
Even through he never did comeback, to the Lakes of Pontchartrain.

So farewell farwell you Creole girl, I'll ne'er see you no more,
I'll ne'er forget your kindness, in the cottage by the shore.
And at each social gathering, a flowing glass I'd drain,
And I drink a health to the Creole girl, by the Lakes of Pontchartrain.