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By Kavil Tran

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There is a house in New Orleans,

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They call the Rising Sun.

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And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy,

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And God, I know I’m one.


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My mother was a tailor,

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Sewed my new blue jeans.

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My fa-ther was a gam–bl-in’ man,

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Down in New Orleans.


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Now the onl–y thing a gambler needs,

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Is a suitcase and a trunk,

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And the o-nly time he’ll be,

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Sa-tisfied, is when he’s a-ll a drunk.


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Oh mother tell your children,

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Not to do what I have done.

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Spend your lives in sin and misery,

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In the house of the rising sun.


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Well I’ve got one foot on the platform.

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The other foot on the train.

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I’m go–in’ back to New Orleans,

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To wear that ba-ll and chain.

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Well there is a house in New Orleans,

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They call the Rising Sun.

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And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy,

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And God, I kn-ow I’m one.




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