Clay victories.




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!)


Weíre 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.


Donít 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.