The pub called The Rising Sun

 The pub called The Rising Sun

There was a pub in Pentrechwyth 

that was called the Rising Sun,

it served Ben Truman’s to many a poor boy;

by God, i know, I was one.

My mother was a housewife,

she ironed my ice blue jeans,

my father was a drinking man,

steadily within his means.

Now the only thing a young boy needs,

is to stay one drink away from drunk,

and keep the old men ratified 

so that it will not be me they’ll debunk.

Oh mammy I’ve got chilblains,

from doing what I have done,

walking that snowy walk in misery,

down to The Rising Sun.

I’ve got one pint on the counter,

another behind the bar,

I’m going to be a good boy tonight,

I promise you, my lovely ma.

But I was in that pub in Pentrechwyth,

that was called the Rising Sun,

Ben Truman’s brought down many a poor boy,

for, by God, i know, I’m one.

With apologies to The Animals