Traditional There is a house in New Orleans Call it the Rising Sun And it's been the ruin Of many a poor girl And me, oh Lord, I'm one If I'd listened what my mama said Be at home today Bein' so young And foolish, my Lord Let a gambler lead me astray My mother was a tailor Sews new blue jeans My sweetheart's is a drunkarad, Lord Drinks down in New Orleans Go tell my baby sister Never do what I have done Shun that house in New Orleans They call it the Rising Sun Goin' back to New Orleans Race is almost run Goin' back to spend my life Beneath, beneath, beneath, oh Lord Beneath, oh now Beneath the rising, rising sun Now, now You come on bye