There is a house in New Orleans, they call the rising sun. It`s been the ruin for many a poor girl, and me, oh Lord, I`m one. My mother was a taylor, she sewed our new blue jeans, my father was a gambling man, down in New Orleans. If I had listened to what my mother said, I`d have been at home today, but I was young and foolish, oh, God, let a rambler lead me astray. Oh Mothers, tell your children not to do what I have done, to spend their lives in sin and misery in the house of the rising sun. I`m going back to New Orleans, my race is almost run, I`m going back to spend my life beneath the rising sun