The House of 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, O God, I'm one.

If I had listened to what Mamma said,
I'd 'a' been at home today.
I was young and foolish, O God ,
Let a rambler lead me astray.

Go tell my baby sister
Not to do what I have done
To shun that house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun.

[My mother she's a tailor;
She sold those new blue jeans.
My sweetheart, he's a drunkard, Lord, 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.

Fills his glasses to the brim,
Passes them around
Only pleasure he gets out of life
Is hoboin' from town to town.

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.]

Going back to New Orleans,
My race is nearly run.
And going back to spend my life
Beneath that Rising Sun.