The House of the Rising Sun

There is, a house, in New Orleans.

They call, the Ri-sing Sun.

And it’s been, the ruin, of many a, poor boy.

And God, I know, I’m one.

My mother, was, a tailor.

She sewed, my new, blue jeans.

My fa-ther was, a gam-blin’ man.

Down, in New, Orleans.

Now the on-ly thing, a gam-bler needs.

Is a suit-case and, a trunk.

And the on-ly time, he’s, satisfied.

Is when, he’s on, a drug.

Oh mothers, tell your children,

Not to do, what I, have done.

Spend, your lives, in sin, and misery.

In the House, of the Ri-sing Sun.

Well, I got one, foot on, the platform.

The o-ther foot on, the train.

I’m go-in’ back, to New Or-leans.

To wear, that ball, and chain.

Well, there is, a house, in New Or-leans.

They call, the Ri-sing Sun.

And it’s been, the ruin, of many a, poor boy.

And God, I know, I’m one.