Lyrics:

Take the 1800's before the inception of modern day ideals,

Fake grip of appeals straight to the street run, no

Bar room virgin, double vision - cocaine, to a whore house of pain



New Orleans is a dying whore, naked she sleeps on my floor



The spreading highway, the underwater staircase

Leading up to a black room, to leave there you're a fool

Mob world politics, so broke it can't fix, trapped

In a time zone, there's no place like home



New Orleans is a dying whore, naked she sleeps on my floor