House of the Rising Sun
There is a house in New Orleans.
They call the Rising Sun.
It’s been the ruin of many a poor girl.
And me, Oh Lord! was one.
My mother was a tailor,
She sewed them new blue jeans.
My lover he was a gambler, Oh Lord,
Gambled down in New Orleans.
My lover, he was a gambling man.
He went from town to town;
And the only time he was satisfied.
Was when he drank his liquor down.
Now the only thing a gambling man needs.
Is a suitcase and a trunk;
And the only time he’s ever satisfied.
Is when he’s on a drunk.
If I only list’nd when my dear mother said:
Beware, my child, when you roam,
Keep away from drunkards and all those gambling men,
It’s best by far to come home.
Go and tell my baby sister.
Never do like I have done,
But to shun that house in New Orleans.
That they call the Rising Sun.
With one foot on the platform,
And one foot on the train.
I’m goin’ back to New Orleans.
To wear the ball and chain.
I’m going back to New Orleans.
My race is almost run;
I’m going back to spend the rest of my life.
Beneath that Rising Sun.