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There is a house in New Orleans |
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They call it 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 God, I'm one |
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If I had only listened of what my mama said |
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I'd be at home today |
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But bein' so young and foolish, my Lord |
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Let a gambler lead me astray |
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Now, my mother is a tailor |
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She sews those new blue jeans |
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And my sweetheart is a drunkard, Lord |
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Drinks down in New Orleans |
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Now the only thing a drunken man needs |
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Is a suitcase and a trunk |
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And the only time he's satisfied |
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Lord, is when he's on the run |
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Somebody, go get my baby sister |
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Tell her to do what I have done |
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But shun that house in New Orleans |
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They call it the Rising Sun |
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Well, I'm goin' back to New Orleans |
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My race is almost run |
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Yes, I'm goin' back to spend my life |
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Beneath, beneath, the rising |