Risin' Sun Blues - Doc Watson

There is a house down in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun

And it’s been the ruin of a many poor boy

And me, oh God, I’m one

Go tell my youngest brother for me

Not to do the things I’ve done

But to shun that house down in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun

Oh, well, the only thing that a rounder needs

Is a suitcase or a trunk

And the only time he’s satisfied

Is when he’s on a drunk

So fill up your glasses to the brim

Let the drinks flow merrily 'round

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

Who goes from town to town

Now, boys, don’t believe what a bad girl tells you

Though her eyes be blue or brown

Unless she’s on some scaffold high

Sayin', «Boys, I can’t come down»

They’ll take me back down to New Orleans

To face the crimes I’ve done

And they’ll tie me to a ball and chain

Until my race is run