The shutters are cracked and dry now,
And the roof lets the rain seep in;
The old four walls are ready to fall,
And the sign reads, "This House Condemned"

Once a mighty plantation,
When a nation was at war;
When mothers prayed for sons that went away,
And cried for ones that came back no more

But oh, if this house could talk, Lord,
Of Dixieland's final days;
Before they tear her down, before she hits the ground,
I'll bet this is what she would say:

Early on one frosty morn, they raised my timbers and I was born;
Lord, I remember the day;
The mighty oak became my soul, the Delta dawn kept me from the cold,
Lord, Lord, look away

I've seen history, Robert E Lee, and Johnny Reb hold his head up high;
They can tear me down, down, down,
But Dixieland, you will never die

The garden gate is rusty,
And the well's dusty and dry;
The magnolia trees are swayin' in the breeze,
As if to hang their heads and cry

The ballroom is quiet and empty,
Where the bands once used to play;
And the battlefields are resting and still,
With the ghosts of the blue and the gray

This house has seen it all, Lord,
As time kept marching on;
But I'll bet these walls can recall
A story all their own

I've seen King Cotton touch the sky, and riverboats floatin' by,
On their way to New Orleans;
I've bowed with people standin' tall, with their backs pushed up
against the wall,
Getting' by on hopes and dreams

I've seen southern belles _____ ____ ___
And ________ with their heads held high,
They can tear me down, down, down,
But Dixieland, you will never die

Dixieland, you will never die