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

Goin' back to spend my life

Beneath, beneath, beneath, oh Lord

Beneath, oh now

Beneath the rising, rising sun

Now, now



You come on bye