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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
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