The House of the Rising Sun

We're going to do a folk song called the "House Of The Rising Sun" There is a house in New Orleans They call it the Rising Sun And it's been the ruin of many poor girl And me, oh God, I'm one If I had only listened to what my mama said I'd be at home today But being so young and foolish, my Lord Let a gambler lead me astray Now, my mother is a tailor She sews those new blue jeans And my sweetheart is a drunkard, Lord Drinks down in New Orleans Now the only thing that a drunken man needs Is a suitcase and a trunk And the only time he's satisfied Lord, is when he's on the run Somebody, go get my baby sister Tell her to do, never to do what I have done But shun that house in New Orleans They call it the Rising Sun Well, I'm goin' back to New Orleans My race is almost run Yes, I'm goin' back to spend my life Beneath the Rising Sun