There's 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      There's Mike Green,   He's fallen to his knees,   He's 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,   We'll see you at Thanksgiving   At the Sportsman Bar   Whoa-oa-oa, All Hail,   The Sportsman Bar      Ned's our man,   With his Pabst Blue Ribbon can,   Uh-oh, he's looking for a fight!   He'll punch you in the face,   But it's your kind of place   So we'll see you again here tomorrow!      Everybody's drunk! Everybody's drunk!   Whoa-oa-oa, All Hail, The Sportsman Bar