| There is a house down in New Orleans
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| They call the Rising Sun
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| 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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| If I had listened to what my momma said
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| I’d be back home today
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| But I was young and foolish
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| I let a gambler lead me astray
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| Now my mother, she’s a tailor
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| He sowed my new blue jeans
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| My sweetheart is a drunkard, Lord God
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| He drank down in New Orleans
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| Now the only thing a drunkard ever needs
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| Is his suitcase and his trunk
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| The only time he’s ever satisfied
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| Is when he’s out all drunk
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| Well, he fills his glass
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| Up to the brown
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| He passes in all around
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| And the only pleasure he ever gets out alive
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| Is ?? |
| from town to town
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| Go and tell my baby sister
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| Not to do like I have done
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| And spend her life in sin and misery
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| In the house called the Rising Sun
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| I’ve got one foot on the platform
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| Got the other on a train
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| I’m going back down to New Orleans
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| To wear that ol' ball and chain
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| Now my life is almost over
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| I guess my race is nailed at once
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| I’m-a going back to spend the rest of my days
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| In the house called the Rising Sun |