On the Banks of the Old Ponchartrain

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