There is a house in New Orleans They call the Rising Sun. It's been the ruin of many a poor girl, And me, O God, was one. If I had listened what Mamma said, I had been at home today. But being a young and foolish poor girl, A gambler lead me astray. My mother is a tailor; She sews those new blue jeans. My sweetheart, he's a drunkard, Lord, lives down in New Orleans. The only thing a drunkard needs Is a suitcase and a trunk And the only time he's satisfied Is when he's on a drunk. He'll fills his glasses to the brim, He passes them around And the only pleasure he gets out of life Is bumming from town to town. Go tell my baby sister Never do like I have done To shun that house in New Orleans They call the Rising Sun. It's one foot on the platform And the other one on the train. I'm going back to New Orleans To wear that ball and chain. I'm going back to New Orleans, My race is almost run. I'm going back to spend my life Beneath that Rising Sun.
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