Strip the streets of logic

it's that time of week again.

Put the short skirts on the women

get the team shirts on the men.

Get the barrels filled with beer

and put your gumshields in.

Pack the bars and tip the cars

the match will soon begin.

 

Raise the horns and burst the drums

that lay within our ears.

Unite us all with ludicrous folk

and rid us of our fears.

Down a yard and run a mile

up to the pitches gates.

Find a seat and stand on it

along with all your mates.

 

If we win there'll be some crippling

if we lose there'll be some more.

The chance of harm is tripling

at every change of every score.

Crack the gates on to the streets

and scrap with no half measure.

To some it's weekly business

to others it's known as pleasure.

 

Grab a brick and clank a chain

break a leg and smash a brain.

Take the boys out to the cleaners

in a twisted pissed up ripped demeanour.

Thump the supporter and his friend

hide the weapon round the bend.

Get chucked in the riot van

howl and wail as much as you can.

 

Do it as long as you so please

the danger's ever growing.

The cells are prime all of the time

and that's just where you're going.

This is the game that's off the pitch

that happens now and then.

So lock up your daughters and clear the streets

it's match day once again.