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There is a house in New Orleans |
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You call the Rising Sun. |
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It's been the ruin of many a poor soul |
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And me, oh God, I'm one. |
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If I'd listened to what mama said, |
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I'd be at home today. |
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Being so young and foolish, poor girl |
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I let a gambler lead me astray . |
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My mother she's a tailor, |
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Sews those new blue jeans. |
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My sweetheart, he's a drunkard, Lord God |
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He drinks down in New Orleans. |
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He fills his glasses to the brim, |
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Passes them around. |
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The only pleasure that he gets out of life |
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Is a-hoboin' from town to town. |
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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 that he's half satisfied |
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Is when he's on a drunk. |
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Go and tell my baby sister |
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Never do like I have done. |
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Shun that house down in New Orleans |
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That they call that Rising Sun. |
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It's one foot on the platform, |
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One foot on the train. |
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I'm going back down to New Orleans |
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To wear my ball and my chain. |
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My life is almost over, |
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My race is almost run. |
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Going back down to New Orleans |
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To that house of the Rising Sun. |