Francesca Belmonte 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 a poor girl
And me, oh Lord, I'm one
If I listened to all my mother said
I'd be home instead
I've been so young and foolish
Baby can believe me astray
My mother was a tailor
She sewed those new blue jeans
My sweetheart he's a trucker
Drinks down in New Orleans
Now the only thing a trucker man needs
Is a suitcase and a truck
The only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drink
You tell my baby sister
Never do what I've done
Still away from now
They call the rising sun
I'm gonna back to New Orleans
My ways is almost crime
He come back, spend my life
Beneath the rising sun