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
|
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| The Sportsman Bar
| | Nerf Herder |
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