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Rising Sun Blues
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There is a house down in New Orleans They call the Rising Sun And it's been the ruin of a many poor boy And me, oh God, for one Then fill the glasses to the brim Let the drinks go merrily around And we'll drink to the health of a rounder poor boy Who goes from town to town The only thing that a rounder needs Is a suitcase and a trunk And the only time he's satisfied Is when he's on a drunk Now boys don't believe what a girl tells you Though her eyes be blue or brown Unless she's on some scaffold high Saying "Boys, I can't come down." Go tell my youngest brother Not to do the things I've done But to shun that house down in New Orleans They call the Rising Sun I'm going back, back to New Orleans For my race is nearly run Gonna spend the rest of my wicked life Beneath that Rising Sun
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