Lord, I was born a ramblin' man,
Trying to make a living and doing the best I can.
When it's time for leaving,
I hope you'll understand,
That I was born a rambling man.
My father was a gambler down in Georgia.
He wound up on the wrong end of a gun.
And I was born in the back seat of a Greyhound bus,
Rolling down highway fortyone.
CHORUS
I'm on my way to New Orleans this morning,
Leaving out of Nashville, Tennessee.
They're always having a good time down on the Bayou, Lord.
Them Delta women thing the world of me.
CHORUS
Writer(s): Forrest Richard Betts
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