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Traditional There is a house in New Orleans Call it the Rising Sun And it's been the ruin Of many a poor girl And me, oh Lord, I'm one If I'd listened what my mama said Be at home today Bein' so young And foolish, my Lord Let a gambler lead me astray My mother was a tailor Sews new blue jeans My sweetheart's is a drunkarad, Lord Drinks down in New Orleans Go tell my baby sister Never do what I have done Shun that house in New Orleans They call it the Rising Sun Goin' back to New Orleans Race is almost run