There is a house in New Orleans, 
they call the rising sun.
It`s been [bad word] for many a poor girl, and me, oh Lord, I`m one.
My mother was a taylor, she sewed our new blue jeans,
my father was a gambling man, down in New Orleans.
If I had listened to what my mother said,
I`d have been at home today,
but I was young and foolish, oh, God, let a rambler lead me astray.
Oh Mothers, tell your children not to do what I have done,
to spend their lives in sin and misery
in the house of the rising sun.
I`m going back to New Orleans, my race is [bad word] 
I`m going back to spend my life beneath the rising sun