There is a house in New Orleans. You call the Rising Sun. It's been the ruin of many-a poor soul And me, Oh God I'm one.
If I had listened to what momma said Being home today Being so young and foolish poor girl Let a gambler lead me astray
My mother she's a tailor Sows those blue, blue jeans My sweatheart he is a drunkard Lord God Drinks down in New Orleans.
He fills his glasses to the brim Passes them around The only pleasure that he gets out of live Is a-hoboin' from town to town
The only thing this drunkard needs Is a suitcase and a trunk Only time that he's half satisfied Is when he's on a drunk.
Go and tell my baby sister Never do like I have done Shun that house down in New Orleans That they call the Rising Sun
With one foot on the platform One foot on the train I'm going back down to New Orleans To wear my ball and my chain
My live is allmost over My race is allmost done Going back down to New Orleans To that house of the Rising Sun
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