House of the Rising Sun

by Traditional

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 God for one

If I had listened to what my mamma said
I’d be at home today
But I was young and foolish poor girl
Let a gambler lead me astray

My mother, she’s a tailor
She sews those old blue jeans
My father he’s a gamblin’ man
Drinks down in New Orleans

Go tell my baby sister
Not to do as I have done
You shun that house in New Orleans
They call it the rising sun
Well I’m going back to New Orleans
My race is almost run
I’m going to spend the rest of my days
Beneath that rising sun

Well one foot is on the platform
And the other one’s on the train
I’m going to spend the rest of my days
Wearing that ball and chain

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