The House of the Rising Sun

There is a House in New Orleans
They call it the Rising Sun.
It’s been the ruin of many a poor boys,
And me, Lord, I’m a one.
My mother she was a tailor;
She sewed my new blue jean.
My father, he is was a gambling man
Down in New Orleans.
One foot is on the platform
And the other is on the train.
I’m going back to were I come from
To wear that ball and chain.
I’m going back to New Orleans,
My race is almost run.
Going back to spend the rest of my life
Down the Rising Sun.