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Clarence Ashley
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House of the Rising Sun
There are a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
Where many poor boys to destruction has gone
And me, oh God, are one
Just fill a glass up to the brim
Let the drinks go merrily around
We'll drink to the life of a rounder, poor boy
Who goes from town to town
All in this world does a rambler want
Is a suitcase and a trunk
The only time he's satisfied
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Is when he's on a drunk
Now boys don't believe what a young girl tells you
Let her eyes be blue or brown
Unless she's on some scaffold high
Sayin' 'Boys, I can't come down'
I'm going there to New Orleans
For my race is almost run
To spend the rest of my wicked life
Beneath the rising sun
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