There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Risin' Sun.
Been the ruin of a many a poor gal,
And me, oh, God, I'm one!
If I'd a-listened what mama said
I'd a-been at home today.
Being so young and foolish, poor boy,
I let a gambler lead me astray.
My mother, she's a tailor,
She sewed those new blue jeans.
My sweetheart, he's a drunkard, Lord,
Drinks down in New Orleans.
The only thing a drunkard needs
Is a suitcase and a trunk;
The only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk.
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.

Go tell my baby sister
Never do like I have done,
To shun that house in the New Orleans
That they call the Risin' Sun!
One foot's on the platform,
The other on the train,
I'm going back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain.
Going back to New Orleans,
My time is almost done;
Going back to spend my life
Beneath that Rising Sun.
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House of the Rising Sun as written by Eric Victor Burdon, Dp,
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., BUG MUSIC, EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
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