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There is a house in New Orleans. They call the Rising Sun. And it's been the ruin of many young poor boys And God I know I'm one. My mother was a tailor She sewed my new blue jeans My father was a gamblin man Down in New Orleans. Now the only thing a gambler needs Is a suitcase and a trunk And the only time that he's satisfied Is when he's all drunk. Oh mother tell your children Not to do what I have done To spend their life in sin and misery In the house of the Rising Sun.