Lyrics
There is a house down in New Orleans
They call the 'Rising Sun'
It's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And me, oh god I'm one
Mama, she worked for a tailor man
She sewed all my new blue jeans
And my daddy was a gambling man
In the town of old New Orleans
(Shuffle them cards, Richard)
The only thing that a rounder ever needs
Is a suitcase or a trunk
And the only time he's ever satisfied
Is when he's on a drug
Boys fill up the glasses
Right to the brim
Let the drinks flow merrily round
Well, drink to the health
Of the round poor boy
Who rambles from town to town
Now fellows don't believe
What a bad woman tells you
For her eyes be blue or brown
Unless she's standing on some old scaffold high
Saying, "Fellows, they won't let me come down"
Go tell my youngest brother
Not to do the awful things that I've done
And to shine that old house down in New Orleans
That they call the rising sun
Soon they'll take me back, down to New Orleans
To face all the crimes that I've done
Then they'll tie me to an old ball and chain
Until my earthly race is run
