There's a rusty stirrup, a rotting bandolier,
An old Martini-Henry from history's frontier.
In the state museum. those pictures on the wall
Look as if they're living, they never died at all.
They ride, ride, ride, ride, ride,
Like those men of yesterday.
And they ride, ride, ride, ride ride,
Ride in the name of Grey.
That phantom band of horsemen riding in the sky,
Sentries of the spirit they never will let die.
Their long and lonely vigil hasn't been in vain,
The spirit has awakened, the horsemen ride again.
They ride, ride, ride, ride, ride,
Like those men of yesterday.
And they ride, ride, ride, ride ride,
Ride in the name of Grey.
There's a shining stirrup, a loaded magazine,
An automatic rifle, a suit of jungle green.
There's a band of horsemen riding on patrol,
Fighting from the saddle like in days of old.
They ride, ride, ride, ride, ride,
Like those men of yesterday.
And they ride, ride, ride, ride ride,
Ride in the name of Grey.
They ride, ride, ride, ride, ride,
Like those men of yesterday.
And they ride, ride, ride, ride ride,
Ride in the name of Grey.