There is a house in New Orleans, they call the "Rising Son", it's been the ruin of many a poor girl, and me, oh lord, I'm one. My mother is a tailor, she sews those new blue jeans, my husbend he's a gambling man, drinks down in New Orleans. My husbend in a gambler, he goes from town to town, the only time, he's satisfied, is when he drinks his liquor down. Go tell my baby sister, never do what I have done, shun that house in New Orleans they call the "Rising Son". One foot on the platform, the other's on the train, I'm going back to New Orleans, to wear that ball and chain. Going back to New Orleans, my race is almost run, I'm going to sped the rest of my life, beneath that "Rising Son".
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