Оригинален текст
She was a flower for the takin',
Her beauty cut just like a knife
He was a banker from Macon,
He swore he'd love her all a his life
He bought her a mansion on the mountain,
With a formal garden and a lot a land
But paradise became her prison, that Georgia banker was a jealous man!
Every time he'd talk about her,
You could see the fire in his eyes
He'd say,
"I would walk through Hell on Sunday, to keep my Rose in Paradise
He hired a man to tend the garden,
And keep an eye on her while he was gone
Some say they ran away together
Some say that gardener left alone
Now the banker is an old man
That mansion's crumbling down
He sits all day and he stares at the garden
Not a trace of her was
Ever found
Every time he'd talk about her,
You could see the fi-er in his eyes
He'd say,
"I would walk through Hell on Sunday,
To keep my Rose in Paradise
Now there's a rose out in the garden
Its beauty cuts just like a knife
They say that it even grows in the winter time
And blooms in the dead of the night