B-A-R F-I-G-H-T
(N. Choate-Batchelder, G. McElwain, R. Stark)

INTRO
Sometimes life's a steamin' pile,
and the best that you can do
is manage not to strangle anyone today.

So you climb up on that barstool,
and you have a shot or two, or three,
or four, or five, or six, and then you say:

I don't know you.
I don't like you.
I don't like the way your face sits on your head.
Face was strike one,
place was strike two.
Should'a' picked another honky tonk instead.

If you think I
need a reason
more complex than these
to rough you up, you're wrong.
And that stink eye?
That's strike three, son.
Put your dukes up and feel free to sing along.

CHORUS:
B-A-R F-I-G-H-T bar fight!
B-A-R F-I-G-H-T bar fight!
Fists a flyin', teeth a-chippin',
bottles breakin', tables flippin'.
B-A-R F-I-G-H-T bar fight!

B is for the beating that you will receive.
A is for my anger, which I will take out on you
R is for running away, which will not be an option.

F is for my fists.
I is for the injuries you will sustain.
G is for the girls who will be watching.
H is for the humiliation you will experience.
T is for your tears.

CHORUS

There ain't no winners,
there ain't no losers,
just some sons of bitches blowing off some steam.
We're all sinners,
we're all boozers.
You get your licks in and you take some for the team.

Cops roll up and
send us packin',
stagger out all bleeding cuts and tender spots.
Then those police
kick us right back in.
Gotta pony up for all them dollar shots.

CHORUS