There is a house in New Orleans

You call the Rising Sun.

It's been the ruin of many a poor soul

And me, oh God, I'm one.

If I'd listened to what mama said,

I'd be at home today.

Being so young and foolish, poor girl

I let a gambler lead me astray .

My mother she's a tailor,

Sews those new blue jeans.

My sweetheart, he's a drunkard, Lord God

He drinks down in New Orleans.

He fills his glasses to the brim,

Passes them around.

The only pleasure that he gets out of life

Is a-hoboin' from town to town.

The only thing a drunkard needs

Is a suitcase and a trunk.

The only time that he's half satisfied

Is when he's on a drunk.

Go and tell my baby sister

Never do like I have done.

Shun that house down in New Orleans

That they call that Rising Sun.

It's one foot on the platform,

One foot on the train.

I'm going back down to New Orleans

To wear my ball and my chain.

My life is almost over,

My race is almost run.

Going back down to New Orleans

To that house of the Rising Sun.