Lyrics:
There is a house down in New OrleansThey call the Rising SunAnd it's been the ruin of a many poor boyAnd me, oh God , for oneThen fill the glasses to the brimLet the drinks go merrily aroundAnd we'll drink to the health of a rounder poor boyWho goes from town to townThe only thing that a rounder needsIs a suitcase and a trunkAnd the only time he's satisfiedIs when he's on a drunk(break)Now boys don't believe what a girl tells youThough her eyes be blue or brownOnless she's on some scaffold highSaying 'Boys, I can't come down.'Go tell my youngest brotherNot to do the things I've doneBut to shun that house down in New OrleansThey call the Rising Sun(break)I'm going back, back to New OrleansFor my race isa nearly runGonna spend the rest of my wicked lifeBeneath that Rising Sun