Richard Elins

Ah cannae describe what it feels like. What it feels like tae walk up a main street where ifry cunt is lookin at ye. An they uhr like, 'who the fuck uhr you?', and you uhr like, straight at thi cunts, 'who the fuck uhr you cunts?' That, aye that, is the essence o it; that's right, 'what thi fuck are ye gonna dae aboot it ya cunts? Fuck all.'

An that, that is just two minutes o it. Ah mean, ye walk up the main street. Fuckin walk. It makes ye feel fuckin erect. Aw these cunts agast: grannies, maws, maws wi thir bairns. Ye march the street. Thir's nuhhin like it – The Away Game.

Aw yer boys uhr like, 'stand, stand...' cause ye niver run. But ye march the main street, and ye reach. Ye either reach thir boys, or the polis. Either way, 'stand, stand, pile in, bunch o shiters'. Cause, polis or nae polis, if ye run then yer a shiter. No even worth talkin aboot

Cause ye're a fuckin piece o shit
Cause ye stand where ye stand
Ah'd rither die than run
Ye ken thi cunts uhside ye wid niver run
Like you wid niver run
Only way ye'd run
is at thi cunts