It's a good ole' time in the pub tonight,
alcohol flowing like a river.
Drinks set up, and knocked down,
friends coming for fun and cheer.

Sooner or later, that man comes in,
the one with a chip on his shoulder.
He won't be quiet, he won't calm down,
he likes to talk with his hands.

Red faces flush with red noses,
red eyes flash in the dark.
Loud voices raise to yells,
as someone throws a punch.

(now it's on)

It just starts with two combatants,
fighting for who-knows what reason.
They bump into someone's table,
spilling their drinks, now their mad.

Two sets of fist soon multiply,
adding in the swinging of feet.
Someone catches a bottle to the skull,
blood flowing like a river.

Lips are cut, eyes are swollen,
knuckles busted and tempers frayed.
Hit someone you've never met,
why are you beating him up in the first place?

(now it's on)

The whole pub is in an uproar,
while the bartender watches it all.
Mugs start turning into projectiles,
pool sticks like the spears of yore.

Bones cracking under pressure,
knuckles broken from overuse.
Teeth missing, cut into fingers,
muscles clenching for the coming impact.

Sirens ring over the den of battle,
the local cops have come to share.
Those who are still left standing,
now have a common enemy to share.

(now it's on)

Night air flows into the pub,
bringing some to their senses.
Clearing heads for clear thoughts,
watch bodies diving through windows.

Running, hurt, but can't feel a thing,
adrenaline strong than heroine.
Cops have busted the whole shin-dig,
lucky to have escaped this time.

Another night, same pub,
friend come to talk and drink.
Blood stains have all been wiped down,
only to be replaced later tonight.

11/04/2005

Posted on 11/04/2005
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