There is a house in New Orleans,
You call the "Rising Sun",
It's been the ruin of many a poor soul
and me,Oh,God， I'm one.

If I'd listened to what mama said,
I'd be at home today
Being so young and foolish, poor girl
I let a gambler lead me astray

My mother she's a tailor,
Sews those new blue jeans
My sweetheart, he's a drunkard, Lord God
He drinks down in New Orleans.

He fills his glasses to the brim,
Passes them around.
The only pleasure that he gets out of life
Is a hobo from town to town.

The only thing a drunkard needs
Is a suitcase and a trunk.
The only time that he's half satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk.

Go and tell my baby sister
Never do like I have done.
Shun that house down in New Orleans
That they call that Rising Sun.

It's one foot on the platform,
One foot on the train.
I'm going back down to New Orleans
To wear my ball and my chain.

My life is almost over,
My race is almost run.
Going back down to New Orleans
To that house of the Rising Sun