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