There is a house in Western York they call the Rising Sun

And it′s been the ruin of many a poor boy

My God, I hear them come

My mother was a tailor, she sewed these new blue sleeves

Our father's were legends of men

Whom ruled like western straits

I′m going back to Western York

Where hearts beat loud as one

To the house, the pain, and the warrior's game

To the men who raised the sun

There is a house in Western York they call the Rising Sun

And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy

My God, I hear them come