It's a world of petty grievances,
Rival tribal allegiances.
Adore your team and your football ground,
Hate everyone in the neighbouring town.
You say the people are different there,
You can tell them by the clothes they wear.
They've got no passion, got no heart.
Two cities, fifteen miles apart.
You can't trust them with their shifty eyes
And every word they say is lies.
Kick the bastards when they're down.
Postcode wars in Northern towns.
Macho, pumped-up, tightly wound
Men fight like kids in school playgrounds.
Their idea of weekend ecstasy
Is the pub, the match then A & E.
Spit and fight and hate and maim,
All in the name of the beautiful game.
Will you ever learn the lesson that
It's not where you're from...it's where you're at.
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