HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN

There is a house in New Orleans,
they call the "Rising Sun",
and it's been the ruin of many a poor boy,
and God, I know, I'm one.

My mother was a tailor,
sewed my new blue jeans,
my father was a gambling man,
down in New Orleans.

Now the only thing a gambler needs,
is a suitcase and a trunk
and the only time, he'll be satisfied, is when
he's on a drunk.

Oh mother, tell your children,
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery,
...