Traditional
There is a house in New Orleans
Call it the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin
Of many a poor girl
And me, oh Lord, I'm one
If I'd listened what my mama said
Be at home today
Bein' so young
And foolish, my Lord
Let a gambler lead me astray
My mother was a tailor
Sews new blue jeans
My sweetheart's is a drunkarad, Lord
Drinks down in New Orleans
Go tell my baby sister
Never do what I have done
Shun that house in New Orleans
They call it the Rising Sun
Goin' back to New Orleans
Race is almost run
