Spelarens tuffa vardag.

Det är bara att klicka på texten!

There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
It's been the ruin of many a poor girl
And me, Oh Lord! was one
My mother was a tailor,
She sewed them new blue jeans.
My lover he was a gambler, Oh Lord,
Gambled down in New Orleans.

My lover, he was a gambling man
He went from town to town;
And the only time he was satisfied
Was when he drank his liquor down.
Now the only thing a gambling man needs
Is a suitcase and a trunk;
And the only time he's ever satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk.

If I only list'nd when my dear mother said:
Beware, my child, when you roam,
Keep away from drunkards and all those gambling men,
It's best by far to come home.
Go and tell my baby sister
Never do like I have done,
But to shun that house in New Orleans
That they call the Rising Sun.

With one foot on the platform,
And one foot on the train
I'm goin' back to New Orleans
To wear the ball and chain.
I'm going back to New Orleans
My race is almost run;
I'm going back to spend the rest of my life
Beneath that Rising Sun.