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.