There is a h ouse in New Orleans,
They call the R ising Sun,
And it's been the r uin of many a poor boy,
And God I know I'm one.
My mother w as a tailor,
She sewed my n ew blue jeans,
My father w as a gamblin man,
Down in New Orleans.
Am E/Am E/
Now the only t hing a gambler needs,
Is a suitcase a nd trunk,
And the only t ime he's satisfied,
Is when he's on drug.
Oh mother tell your children,
Not to do what I have done:
To spend your l ifes in sin and misery,
In the house of the Rising Sun.
Well i got one foot o n the platform,
The other foot on the train,
I'm going b ack to New Orleans,
To wear that ball and chain.
Well, there is a h ouse in New Orleans,
They call the R ising Sun,
And it's been the r uin of many a poor boy,
And god I know I'm one.




























