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,
She sewed my new blue jeans.
My father was a gambling man,
Down in New Orleans.

Now the only life a gambler knows,
Is a suitcase and a trunk.
And the only time when he is satisfied,
Is when he's stone drunk.

Oh mother, tell your children,
Not to do what I have done.
Don't spend your life in sin and misery,
In the house of the rising sun.

With one foot on the platform,
The other on the train.
I'm going back to New Orleans,
To wear that ball and chain.

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

Submitted by Kirsty Payne