There is a house in New Orleans they call the Rising Sun.
It has been the ruin of many a poor girl, and me, oh, Lord, was
one.
If I had listened what Mama said, I'd 'a' been at home today.
Being so young and foolish, poor boy, let a gambler lead me
astray.
My mother, she's a tailor, she sewed those new blue jeans;
My sweetheart, he's a drunkard, Lord, drinks down in New Orleans.
The only thing a drunkard needs is a suitcase and a trunk,
The only time he's satisfied is when he's on a drunk.
Go tell my baby sister never do like I have done,
To shun that house in New Orleans they call the Rising Sun.
One foot is 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,
Going back to spend the rest of my life beneath that Rising Sun.