@migu music@

There is a house down in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun

And many poor boy to distrut she has gone

And me, oh God, for one

Just fill the glasses to the brim

Let the drinks go merrily around

And we'll drink to the health of a rounder poor boy

Who goes from town to town

The only thing that a rounder needs

Is a suitcase and a trunk

And the only time he's satisfied

Is when he's on a drunk

Now boys, don't believe what a girl tells you

Though her eyes be blue or brown

Unless she's on some scaffold high

Saying, "Boys, I can't come down"

I'm going back, back to New Orleans

For my race is nearly run

Gonna spend the rest of my wicked life

Beneath that Rising Sun