There is a house in New Orleans They call, the Rising Sun It's been the ruin of many poor girl And me, oh God, I'm one
If I had listened to what my mother said I'd have been at home today. But I was young and foolish, oh god, Let a rambler lead me astray.
My mother, she's a tailor She sews those new blue jeans My sweatheart, he's a gambling man Drinks down in New Orleans
The only thing a drunker needs Is a suitcase and a trunk The only time he's satisfied Is when he's on a drunk
He fills his glasses to the brim And he'll pass the cards around The only pleasure he gets out of life Is ramblin' from town to town
Go tell my baby sister Never do like I have done To shun that house in New Orleans That they call, the Rising Sun
One foot's on the platform And the other's on the train I'm going back to New Orleans To wear that ball and chain
Going back to New Orleans My race is almost run I'm going to spend my life Beneath that Rising SunTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
