House Of The Risin’ Sun

There is a house down in New Orleans, called the Rising Sun.

It's been the room of many's a poor boy and me.

Oh, God, I'm one.

Mama, she worked for a tailor man,

sewed all my new blue jeans.

My daddy was a gamblin' man In a town of New Orleans

The only thing that a rounder ever needs Is a suitcase or a trunk

The only time he's ever satisfied Is when he's on a drunk

So boys, fill up your glasses to the brim Let the drinks flow merrily around

I'll drink to the health of a rounder poor boy

Who rambles from town to town Now fellas, don't believe what a bad woman

tells you your eyes be blue or brown unless she's standing on some old scaffold high

saying fellas they won't let me down go tell my youngest brother

not to do the awful things that I done and to shun that old house down in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun Soon they'll take me back down to New Orleans

Face the awful crimes that I've done And they'll tie me to an old ball and chain

Until my earthly race is run