Theres 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

Theres Mike Green,
Hes fallen to his knees,
Hes 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,
Well see you at Thanksgiving
At the Sportsman Bar
Whoa-oa-oa, All Hail,
The Sportsman Bar

Neds our man,
With his Pabst Blue Ribbon can,
Uh-oh, hes looking for a fight
Hell punch you in the face,
But its your kind of place
So well see you again here tomorrow

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