Thereis a house in New Orleans They call the rising sun And it鈥瞫 been the ruin of many poor soul And, Lord, my father's one My mother, she鈥瞫 a tailor She sews those new blue jeans To keep my gambling father drunk Deep down in New Orleans It's a happy, happy, happy Happy, fun day, day Like a bird flying over forest fire My father feels the heat beneath his wings And in debt he leaves for
Thereis a house in New Orleans. They call it the Rising Sun. And it's been the ruin of many a poor girl. And me, oh God, I'm one. If I had only listened of what my mama said. I'd be at home today. But bein' so young and foolish, my Lord. Let a gambler lead me astray. Now, my mother is a tailor.
H0aS.