House of the Rising Sun

There is a house in New Orleans They call the rising sun And it's been the ruin of many poor soul And, Lord, my father's one My mother, she's a tailor She sews those new blue jeans To keep my gambling father drunk Deep down in New Orleans It's a happy, happy, happy Happy, fun day, day Like a bird flying over forest fire My father feels the heat beneath his wings And in debt he leaves for another town Where he gambles and, drunk, he still drinks My mother hides from pleasure And thinks of father on her knees Lifted in the arms of God Away from New Orleans Happy, happy, happy Happy, fun day, day Happy, happy, happy Happy, fun day, day