rising sun

There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I'm one

My mother was a tailor
She sewed my new bluejeans
My father was a gamblin' man
Down in New Orleans

Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and trunk
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk

Oh mother tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun

Well, I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm goin' back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain

Well, there is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I'm one


THE RISING SUN

There is a house in New Orleans
It's called the Rising Sun
It's been the ruin of many poor girl,
Great God and I for one.

If I had of listened to what my mother said,
I'd be at home today,
But I was young and foolish poor girl
Let a rounder lead me astray.

Oh mother, mother, tell me why
You treat that rounder cold,
I'd rather be that rounder's wife
Than to wear your crown of gold.

Now tell my sister in Baltimore,
Not to do as I have done
To shun that house in New Orleans,
It's called the Rising Sun.


THE HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN

There is a house in New Orleans,
They call it the Rising Sun,
An' when you want your pecker spoilt
That's where you get it done.

O tell my youngest brother
Not to do what I have done
And to shun that place down in New Orleans
That's called the Rising Sun.

Beware the red light out in front
An' the pictures on the wall,
An' yellow gals dressed in purple shoes
Without no clothes at all.

Shun the red light an' flowin' bowl,
Beware of too much drink,
Them whores will take an' lead you on
To hell's eternal brink.

They drink all day an' fuck all night
Until your money's gone;
They kick you ass out in the street
When the second shift comes on.

There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
Where many a poor boy to destruction has gone
And me, Oh God, I'm one

I'm going back to New Orleans
My race is almost run.
Gonna spend the rest of my weekly pay
Beneath that Rising Sun.

john says:

There was at least one "house" in pre-Storyville New Orleans that featured Japanese whores. A verse collected by Randolph refers to "yellow gals." Japan is the "Land of the Rising Sun." This all hangs together to suggest that House of the Rising Sun could have been the place with Japanese women. 1

and thomas said:

When Myrna first began singing The House of the Rising Sun, I realized that the song has been routinely misinterpreted. We faced constant hostility from those who thought that it was heresy for an Asian woman to sing the blues. But, The House of the Rising Sun is the most widely known blues song in the world. And, once Myrna began to sing it, I realized that the song was written for an Asian woman. The house in question is a whorehouse specializing in Asian women, located in Storyville, the legendary red light district of New Orleans, the birthplace of jazz and blues. 2

but zora neale hurston said:

"high yaller, yaller, high brown, vaseline brown, seal brown, low brown, dark brown" 3

the bbc says:

In 2005 this site [where the house reportedly had existed] was excavated by archaeologists in search of ancient Native American artefacts, and some interesting things were unearthed, making the former hotel 'look impressively like a bordello', according to Shannon Dawdy, the lead archaeologist. Dawdy cited finding combinations of broken pieces of 'tons of liquor bottles' and several rouge pots. 4

but dave van ronk said:

There is one final footnote to that story. Like everyone else, I had always assumed that the "house" was a brothel. But a while ago I was in New Orleans to do the Jazz and Heritage Festival, and my wife Andrea and I were having a few drinks with Odetta in a gin mill in the Vieux Carr, when up comes a guy with a sheaf of old photographs -- shots of the city from the turn of the century. There, along with the French Market, Lulu White's Mahogany Hall, the Custom House, and suchlike, was a picture of a forbidding stone doorway with a carving on the lintel of a stylized rising sun. Intrigued, I asked him, "What's that building?" It was the Orleans Parish women's prison. So, as it turned out, I had gotten the whole business wrong from the get-go. Pity I didn't think it was a Sunday school -- I might have never sung the damn thing in the first place. 5

The traditional version, as written by Georgia Turner and Bert Martin, is as follows:

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. 6

their bodies were used for projection of all kinds of fantasies. we use them still.