There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun.
It's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I'm one.
My mother was a tailor
Sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gambling man
Down in New Orleans.
Now the only thing he ever had
Was a suitcase and a trunk
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk.
Oh mother, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun.
Well with one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm going back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain.