There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
It has been the ruin of many a poor girl
And me, oh, God, I’m one
If I had listened to what my mother said
I’d have been at home today
But I was young and foulish, oh, God
Let a rambler lead me astray
Go tell my babysisters
Don’t do what I have done
To shun that house in New Orleans
They call the rising sun
And going back to new orleans
My race is almost run
I’m going back to spend my life
Beneath the rising sun
I use to drive my Papa to all his appointments and sometimes take him out on the highway to the reserve... he’d always ask me to put this song on, this one and ace cannon green onions. The wind would be bursting through the windows as we hit the open road and the sax would be roaring and my papa would close his eyes and I could see he was feeling something inside. He was a guitarist his entire life and he died back in April, he taught me this music, and what good music is..... I’ll have those memories forever, and ace cannon and many other great musicians that can connect me to my papa. I love and miss you dearly papa
