The house of the rising sun

There is a house in New Orleans They call the Rising Sun
It's been the ruin of many a poor girl, and me, O God, for one

If I had listened what Mamma said, I'd 'a' been at home today
Being so young and foolish, poor boy, let a rambler lead me astray

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

My mother she's a tailor; she sold those new blue jeans
My sweetheart, he's a drunkard, Lord, 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
Only pleasure he gets out of life is hoboin' from town to town

One foot is on the platform and the other one 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
Going back to spend the rest of my days beneath that Rising Sun