In New Orleans a house there is
Of the rising sun ‘tis named.
Full many a poor wight
His ruin hath he met there.
Of that company am I numbered,
God knoweth.
A tailor's trade my mother plied.
In Genoa's azure garb shod I.
My father favored games of chance
In Crescent City’s vile expanse.
Cask and pistol, loaded each,
Just such a gambler's trade requires.
Oblivion of sherry-sack
'Tis all a drunkard's soul desires.
O mothers!
Unto thine brood instruction give
My practice not to emulate
Lest in sin and misery
Their lives be spent.
New Orleans!
Bound am I
To return unto that city.
I stand upon the platform
Enchained thus. Half sent.
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