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There is a house in New Orleans |
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They call the Rising Sun |
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And it's been the ruin of many a poor girl, |
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And me, oh Lord is one |
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If I had listened to what my mother said |
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I'd have been at home today, |
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But I was young and foolish, Oh God |
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Let a gambler lead me astray |
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My mother is a taylor |
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She sews those new blue jeans |
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My sweetheart is a drunkard, Lord |
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Down in New Orleans |
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The only thing a drunkard needs |
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Is a suitcase and a trunk |
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The only time he's satisfied |
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Is when he's on a drunk |
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He'll fill his glasses to the brim |
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He passes them around |
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And the only pleasure he gets out of life |
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Is bumming from town to town |
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Go tell my baby sister, |
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Never do what I have done |
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To shun that house in New Orleans |
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They call the Rising Sun |
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It's one foot on the platform |
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And the other one on the train |
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I'm going back to New Orleans |
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To wear that ball and chain |
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I'm goin' back to New Orleans |
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My race is almost run |
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I'm goin' back to spend my life |
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Beneath that Rising Sun |