House of the Rising Sun

There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it’s been the ruin of many poor soul
And, Lord, my father’s one
My mother, she’s a tailor
She sews those new blue jeans
To keep my gambling father drunk
Deep down in New Orleans
It’s a happy happy happy happy fun day day
Like a bird flying over forest fire
My father feels the heat beneath his wings
And in debt he leaves for another town
Where he gambles and, drunk, he still drinks
My mother hides from pleasure
And thinks of Father on her knees
Lifted in the arms of God
Away from New Orleans
Happy happy happy happy fun day day
Happy happy happy happy fun day day