There is a house in New Orleans,
                  
They call the "Rising Sun",
                            
It's been [bad word] of many a poor girl, (boys?)
                   
And God, I know, I'm one.

My mother was a tailor,
She sewed those new blue jeans,
my husbend he's a gambling man,
(drinks) down in New Orleans.

My husbend in a gambler,
He goes from town to town,
The only time, he's satisfied, is when
He drinks his liquor down.

Oh, mother, tell your children
Not to do what I have done -
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the House of Rising Sun

One foot on the platform,
The other's on the train,
I'm going back to New Orleans,
to wear that ball and chain.

Going back to New Orleans,
My race is [bad word] 
I'm going to spend the rest of my life,
Beneath that "Rising Sun".