The Sportsman Bar

There's a place on Figueroa Street,

Where you can always go

Smiling faces you might meet,

Whoa-oa-oa, All Hail,

The Sportsman Bar

Whoa-oa-oa, All Hail,

The Sportsman Bar

The trophies on the mantel

Are covered with dust,

And the pretzels are from 1982

The soda from the bar

Tastes just like rust,

Nobody cares! All Hail

The Sportsman Bar

Whoa-oa-oa, All Hail,

The Sportsman Bar

There's Mike Green,

He's fallen to his knees,

He's mumbling 'bout the

State Street rock and roll

They took away the booths,

But unless they take the roof

We will see you again here tomorrow!

Say a prayer for friends

Who passed away,

Say a prayer for the lurkers

And the losers

And to all you bastards

That moved out of town,

We'll see you at Thanksgiving

At the Sportsman Bar

Whoa-oa-oa, All Hail,

The Sportsman Bar

Ned's our man,

With his Pabst Blue Ribbon can,

Uh-oh, he's looking for a fight!

He'll punch you in the face,

But it's your kind of place

So we'll see you again here tomorrow!

Everybody's drunk! Everybody's drunk!

Whoa-oa-oa, All Hail, The Sportsman Bar