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(old Louisiana folk song; learned at folksinging parties in the 1960s)

(music to go here)

There is a house in New Orleans they call the Rising Sun
It's been the ruin of many a poor girl and I, oh Lord, am one.

If I had listened to what mama said, I'd be at home today
But being so young and foolish, poor girl, I let a gambler lead me astray.

My mother is a tailor, she sews those new blue jeans.
My sweetheart is a drunkard, 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.

He'll fill his glasses to the brim, he passes them around
And the only pleasure he gets out of life is bumming from town to town.

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

It's one foot on the platform, and the other one on the train,
I'm gonig back to New Orleans to wear the ball and chain.

I'm goin' back to New Orleans, my race is almost run
I'm goin' back to spend my days beneath that Rising Sun.

(from miriam berg's folksong collection)