Neon haze on cobblestone nights,
whispers ride on the southern moonlight.
Shadows dance in the lamplight’s gleam,
bourbon burns, but so do my dreams.
There's a preacher on the corner,
selling sinners one last prayer.
But the devil’s got a table,
and he’s pulling up a chair.
Oh, Bourbon Street, take my soul,
drown my sins in rock and roll.
Golden whiskey, lace and lies,
where...
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