Hard Traveling - Woodie Guthrie

There is a house in New Orleans

You call the Rising Sun

It’s been the ruin of many-a poor soul

And me, Oh God I’m one

If I had listened to what momma said

Being home today

Being so young and foolish poor girl

Let a gambler lead me astray

My mother she’s a tailor

Sows those blue, blue jeans

My sweatheart he is a drunkard Lord God

Drinks down in New Orleans

He fills his glasses to the brim

Passes them around

The only pleasure that he gets out of live

Is a-hoboin' from town to town

The only thing this drunkard needs

Is a suitcase and a trunk

Only time that he’s half satisfied

Is when he’s on a drunk

Go and tell my baby sister

Never do like I have done

Shun that house down in New Orleans

That they call the Rising Sun

With one foot on the platform

One foot on the train

I’m going back down to New Orleans

To wear my ball and my chain

My live is allmost over

My race is allmost done

Going back down to New Orleans

To that house of the Rising Sun

RS