There is a house in New Orleans.
They call the Rising Sun.
And it's been the ruin of many young poor boys
And God I know I'm one.
My mother was a tailor
She sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gamblin man
Down in New Orleans.
Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and a trunk
And the only time that he's satisfied
Is when he's all drunk.
Oh mother tell your children
Not to do what I have done
To spend their life in sin and misery
In the house of the Rising Sun.