FWIMBW:

Having decided it likely that the usual versions of HORS are mixtures of at least two songs, one of which may be called ROUNDER'S LUCK (words about rounders) and the other HORS (words about the HORS), and having access to the "unprintable" verses collected by Randolph in 1949-50 (but going back to 1905-1920, according to the informants), I set about to put the HORS verses in a reasonable order to make a viable "uncontaminated" song. Here's what I came up with.

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.