RATED ATL-MA FOR FOUL LANGUAGE
He acts kinda different different times of the year
Every fall he acts the same
For however long football seasons here
Falcons Fan, know thy name
He owns a handful of historic jerseys
Some people call him cursed
The name on the front is all that matters
It’s already lived through the worst.
He don’t much care for fantasy football
And sportscenter makes him sick
He says these bastards don’t know BLEEP
And calls em all dumb pricks
He makes a pilgrimage every other week
But he ain’t there to bear no witness
He knows there’ll be folks think he’s some kind of freak
But in the Dome he’s strictly business.
Hes in the game as much
As anyone that’s on the field
This is his home turf
And so he cannot yield.
If he aint screamin or clappin
His head is in his hands
Swears anything can happen
“We can win this!” from the stands
He’s angered and embarrassed
By empty seats and other teams fans
He’ll give no quarter to these yankee invadahs
This is our land
Poor boy dies on every play
Reborn every huddle
Refusing forever to be turned away
He lives for the struggle
His head is pounding
And his voice is long gone
Still screamin’ like fury
“Let’s go boys, come on”
He only ever asks “Just one more time.”
But he’ll ask again in a minute
And til it’s all over “Just one more time…”
He’s with his team and they’re in it.
He’ll boo almost anything
But never his own guys
Don’t have to ask him if we lost
He’ll tell ya with his eyes
He swears the refs and announcers conspire
Have to beat em in every game
“Anyone who can’t see it’s blind or a liar.”
His excuses are always the same.
The boys fought hard he always says
Cept for days when he just can’t
Those game are the ones he’ll just forget
Soon as he lets out that real long rant
He checks his message board
Knowin damn well what he’ll find
Reads the Ryan’s PowerBLEEP In Game Thread
Tries not to lose his mind.
Watch the press conference get pissed at reporters
Look for his boys to lead
He listens to the coach and takes his orders
And thinks what all we need
Monday – Tuesdays are doom
Wednesday – Thursday is death
Friday rolls around
He starts to catch his breath
By the weekend it’s all over
It’s pregame from here on out
By Sunday mornin’
Man there aint any doubt
The Falcons will come to play
Just hope we don’t hurt anyone
Wrong shirt? So sorry, still have to pay
60 minutes there’s no where to run
If season ends early things still look up
Finally they’re running this right
TD and Mr. Blanks know just what to do
CMS has the ship in his sights
Players’ll come and players’ll go
He remembers most em all
He don’t hold grudges if you give it your best
Has a way to toast em all
He believes in the rookies to his very bone
So proud when they make plays
Time comes he accepts their need to roam
And humbly, he parts ways
Theres a few folks he hates for the way they did us
Let em know when they come through
But there’s so many more he was proud to have with us
almost feels bad they get the same boos.
He’s a recovering rape victim
All thanks to Michael Vick
Now they’re saying he’s oh so courageous
He’s still sayin’ Man, what a dick.
He’s a sad and hopeful, paranoid fool
He’ll go through it all again
“Any Given Sunday” is every Sunday’s rule
Just fight em for every inch.
There’s one bloody weekend he don’t often care for
That’s the last of every year.
The teams that are playin aint the team he’s there for
Can’t bring himself to cheer.
“This team’s so close”
He’s said that one before.
After all the BLEEP he’s been through
This time he wants it more
But now everybody’s been locked out
Pretty sure the world is ending
Did he really ever have faith
Or was he just pretending.
But oh he must believe
He believes GO Falcons GO
Moment of weakness, so what?
He’s the Mother BLEEPing Falcons Hero