Do you know what it means, to miss New Orleans, and miss it each night and day? I know I'm not wrong, the feeling's getting stronger, the longer I stay away. Miss the moss-covered pines, the tall sugar pines, where mockingbirds used to sing. And I'd like to see the lazy Mississippi hurrying in to spring. Oh, the mighty grass, the memories of Creole tunes that filled the air. I dream of old Yander's in June, and soon I'm wishing that I were there. Do you know what it means, to miss New Orleans, when that's where you left your heart? There's something more, I miss the one I care for, more than I miss New Orleans. . . . . . . . . .
