| Don’t remember much about my baby days
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| But I’ve been told
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| We used to live on Willow in the Garden District
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| Next to the sugar bowl
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| Momma used to wheel me past an ice cream wagon
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| One side for white and one side for colored
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| I remember the trash cans floatin' down Canal Street
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| It rained every day one summer
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| Momma used to take me to Audubon Park
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| Show me the ways of the world
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| She said, «here comes a white boy, there goes a black one
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| That one’s an octaroon
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| This little cookie here’s a macaroon, that big round
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| Thing’s a red balloon
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| And the paper down here’s called the picayune
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| And here’s a New Orleans tune»
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| In 1948 my Daddy came to the city
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| Told the people they’d won the war
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| Maybe they’d heard about it, maybe not
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| Probably they’d heard about it and just forgot
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| 'Cause they built him a platform in Jackson Square
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| And the people came to hear him from everywhere
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| They started to party and partied some more
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| 'Cause New Orleans had won the war
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| (We knew we’d do it, we done whip those yankees)
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| Daddy said, «I'm gonna get this boy out of this place
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| Bound to sap his strength
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| People have fun here, and I think that they should
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| But nobody from here ever come to no good
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| They’re gonna pickle him in brandy and tell him he’s saved
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| Then throw fireworks all 'round his grave»
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| So he took us to the airport and flew us back to L. A
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| That was the end of my baby days
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| Blue blue morning, blue blue day
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| All your bad dreams drift away
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| It’s a blue blue morning, of a blue blue day
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| Lose those bad dreams
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| Those gray clouds above you
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| What you want them around with you for?
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| You got someone to love you
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| Who could ask for more?
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| It’s a blue blue morning, of a blue blue day
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| All your bad dreams drift away |