Scars been stricken on their face
The game is called, the green is dressed,
They shout, insult, drink and curse
(no rhyme of course, and seldom versed!)
We’re the blowing hooligans of the side
Swift and smooth as Jell-O Bratwurst,
Soccer warriors admiring the slide.
No matter who has lost or won.
Don’t you see the beauty of the game?
A seat, a bottle and that sissy figurine
Fly, knock, and hit any without a name
Till scars bleed on their face.