| Caught wind of the legend when we were kids
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| On the banks of the Gulf Coast
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| About the pirate gold left hidden here way back ago
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| Then in a rage, Hurricane Audry, she blew
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| Down the secret of the sheltering
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| Oak
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| They found Captain Lafitte’s buried
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| Treasure, yeah anything goes
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| In the Deep South
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| We drive close tonight to that very site on Lake Peigneur road
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| Past the tin top shacks that shimmer with the
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| Corrugated waves from the glow
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| Of a howling moon I’m soon to realize I must oblige
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| Especially with the wild blue yonder
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| That I’m seeing in your eyes
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| I tell you, Azalea
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| When they lay me down, child
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| I’ll still be under the spell of
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| The sweet keep of the Deep South
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| The Deep South
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| Like a chef on a mission in the kitchen with seductive recipes
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| Let the spice in my life be the magic
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| That surrounds and entices me
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| Like when you feed the juke box all my silver at Maison Creole
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| Till we feel the levitation of the
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| Dance floor down in our soles
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| I tell you, Azalea
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| When they lay me down, child
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| I’ll still be under the spell of
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| The sweet keep of the Deep South
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| The Deep South
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| Now, only our eyes can follow the trail of serpentine smoke
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| From the bonfire under the stars for the blessing of the boats
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| You know, a healer in the swamp said the
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| Stars guide us back and forth
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| Like campfires burning on a steep and distant shore
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| I tell you, Azalea
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| When they lay me down, child
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| I’ll still be under the spell of
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| The sweet keep of the Deep South
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| The Deep South |