Push for PORTER

There is a house down in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And me, oh God, i'm one

Mamma she worked for a tailor man
She sewed all my new blue jeans
And my daddy was a gamblin' man
In the town of old New Orleans

The only thing that a rounder ever needs
Is a suitcase or a trunk
And the only time he's ever satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk

Boys fill up your glasses right to the brim
Let the drinks flow merrily round
And we'll drink to the health of a rounder poor boy
Who rambles from town to town

Now fella's don't believe what a bad woman tells you
Though her eyes be blue or brown
Unless she's standing on some old scaffold high
Saying "Fellas they won't let me come down".

Go tell my youngest brother
Not to do the awful things that I've done
And to shun that old house down in New Orleans
That they call the Rising Sun

Soon they'll take me back down to New Orleans
To face all the crimes that I've done
Then they'll tie me to an old ball and chain
Until my earthly race is run