There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun.
It's been [bad word] of many a poor girl
And me, Oh God, for one.

If I had listened what Mama said,
I'd be at home today.
Being so young and foolish, poor boy,
Let a rambler lead me astray.

Go tell my baby sister
Never do like I have done
To shun that house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun.

My mother she's a tailor,
She sewed these new blue jeans.
My sweetheart, he's a [bad word]  Lord, Lord,
Drinks down in New Orleans.

The only thing a [bad word] needs
Is a suitcase and a [bad word] 
The only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a [bad word] 

Fills his glasses to the brim,
Passes them around.
Only pleasure he gets out of life
Is hoboin' from town to town.

One foot is on the platform
And the other one 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] 
Going back to spend the rest of my days
Beneath that Rising Sun.