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There is a house in New Orleans, |
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they call the Rising Sun, |
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and it's been the ruin of many a poor boy, |
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and God, I know, I'm one. |
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My mother was a tailor, |
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sewed my new blue jeans, |
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my father was a gambling man, |
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down in New Orleans. |
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Now the only thing a gambler needs, |
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is a suitcase and a trunk |
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and the only time, he'll be satisfied, is when |
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he's on a drunk. |
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Oh mother, tell your children, |
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Not to do what I have done |
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Spend your lives in sin and misery, |
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In the House of the Rising Sun |
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Well, I got one foot on the platform, |
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The other foot on the train, |
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I'm going back to New Orleans, |
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To wear that ball and chain. |
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|
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Well, there is a house in New Orleans, |
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They call the Rising Sun |
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And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy, |
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And God, I know, I'm one. |
