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Totem and Taboo

 Teenage rampage lager lout rage
Two sheets to the wind penned in behind barricades
A chavalanche surging down the stand
Shouting menacing threats hurling obscenities
Across the no-man’s land

Skinheads flickheads and assorted dickheads gesticulate at rival fans
Sing bawdy songs make shameful racist and disgraceful sexist chants
Then swear allegiance to eleven desperate Dans
Hard-core uproar we are here to spoil the party upset the master plan

We don’t use polite insults like butterfingers or buffoon
Our words are weapons we too frequently misuse
Most of us from poor backgrounds a few with silver spoons
Together we take diabolical liberties to keep ourselves amused

Hark now hear United sing the scum they ran away
We don’t let minor things like historical accuracy spoil the drama of the play
The only film we’ve seen this year is Kes a Kestrel for a Knave
And there will be a massacre upon this Saturday

We are extremely loathsome when we gather in large groups
The referee’s a wanker the opposition must be abused
We roam around have no fear shag our women drink our beer
Might get done but never run you daren’t come over here

Opposing fans speak in grunts
A proper weird looking bunch of scruffy runts
At half time they propose to their ugly birds
Over indulge in stupid cupid stunts
Egged on by their local radio disc jockey
Who didn’t make the cut on Pebble Mill at One

Under the Influence of Spartacus and Quadrophenia
Plus copious amounts of Hanna Barbera psychedelia
Enjoying the buzz of psychofan hysteria
We quite fancy Florence not so Fiorentina
You’ll never walk alone with schizophrenia

Oh no say it aint so the baying mob as one we groan
Some worzel has grabbed the winner with minutes left to go
A 30 yard screamer that nearly broke the net the spawny little scrote
That bearded freak who likes northern soul
Featured in last month’s edition of Shoot and Goal
He likes steak and chips Bernard Manning and the Love Thy Neighbour show

A bloodthirsty crew with restricted view
Disarray affray about to break loose
And judging by the levels of over enthusiasm
Shown by the local plod it seems safe to conclude
That the police like a bit of a do too
And get paid generous overtime rates enough to fill their boots
They treat us like animals then wonder why it is
We try take over the zoo

Bobbys helmets sarcastic grins tight leather straps narrow eyes double chins
Wielding truncheons steaming in
Lashing out then dragging out innocent bystanders
Charged with public order offences under false pretences
Nicked by Old Bill grabbed by the fuzz
Brut Musk no need to discuss much save your protestations for Judge Grudge

Big Ron’s a tosser gis a job Yosser
Thrown in the back of a black mariah van battered by rozzas
given first aid back at the pig station by more tolerant officers
Something is happening and it’s happening right now

The final whistle has gone one last vitriolic song
Then the snarling throng of bad losers spews out from this dump of a ground
Onto grimly lit recession hit coronation streets
To be met by a thin blue line of sadistic bizzies
And wildly excited alsatian dogs straining at the leash

Petty criminals delinquent thugs
Hell bent on causing havoc and for opportunities to loot
Mounted officers re-enact Peterloo as if they needed an excuse
All coppers are bastards until otherwise proved
Moody youths testosterone fuelled spoiling for a fight
Train station to the left buses to the right
Hooligan the scourge of postmodern times
A chance to agitate participate in a wider political dispute

Dino Zoff it’s all kicked off we’ve broken through the cordon
Earl’s a winger Pearl’s a singer my favourite song is entitled boredom
Now I find myself caught up in the cauldron of violent disorder
Grimacing faces contorted with hatred
Bulldog tattoos Doc Marten boots symbolic red laces
Dark satanic mills God forsaken places
Going toe to toe bouncing on pavements
Windmilling hit in hope handbags at ten paces

Some scallywag lad put our coach window through with a brick
Then fled from the attack a three star jumper half way up his back
Like shit off a stick away he ran faster than greased lightning man
All the way back home the freezing wind raged
Throughout the compartment put an end to all the craic
I would give everything I own for a warm Crombie coat
Instead of this piss wet through designer anorak

Going Underground selling England by the pound
Looking for trouble 50 head-hunters came to town
Keith Brown alone stood his ground glory shone around
That drew a round of applause from the slavering Chelsea hordes
Entered into folklore where splodgenessabounds

Some look in dustbins for something to eat
They find a dead rat think it’s a treat
Some hang monkeys others drug dependent thieves
Or oft inclined to sexually engage with unlucky sheep
The rest of youse are cocky twats I am dirty Leeds
Identity is the crisis can’t you see? My girl’s mad at me

Bradford Hillsborough led the way to present day nanny state
For the greater good the beautiful game was saved
Now it’s big business and players’ agents who call the shots
And through the nose all must pay
For prawn sandwiches replica shirts tired clichés
It’s a game of 2 halves at the end of the day

What ever happened to The Stranglers?
When I hear certain songs I look back in Wranglers
And reminisce from afar with misty eyed nostalgia
Remembering the thrill when the world stood still
At 3 o’clock each Saturn’s day
From the end of August right through to early May

Away days playing chase the ace with Mad Cyril and Voodoo Ray
E = MC2 anger is an energy
Even after all these years scratch the surface undivided tribal loyalty remains
Not a way of life as such more a right of way
I blame the parents Gabba Gabba Hey

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