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The House of the Rising Sun

The House of the Rising Sun published on

There is a house in New Orleans
they call the Rising Sun.
And it’s been the ruin of many a poor girl.
And me, oh God I’m one.

If I listened to my momma,
Lord I’d be home today.
But I was young and foolish,
Handsome rider led me astray.

Go tell, my baby sister,
never do what I have done.
To shun the house in New Orleans
they call the Rising Sun.

My mother she’s a tailor.
She sewed my new blue jeans.
My sweetheart he’s a rambler,
Way down in New Orleans

Now the only thing a rambler needs
is a suitcase and a gun.
The only time he’s satisfied
is when he’s on the run.

He fills his chamber up with lead
and takes his pain to town.
Only pleasure he gets out of life,
is bringing another man down.

He’s got one hand on the throttle,
the other on the brake.
He’s riding back to Redwood,
to own his father’s stake.

Got one foot on the platform
The other’s on the train
I’m a-going back down to New Orleans
To wear my ball and chain

My life is almost over
My race is almost run
Goin’ back down to New Orleans
To that house of the Rising Sun

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