The Boots Go Marching In

Everybody's out on a Friday night. Boots on their feet, feeling just right. On the way to a place where everybody meets. Looking the best so you're gonna lead. The night might young but your numbers melt. The night's on the way, when it all counts. There's no need to ask what it's all about. At the end of the night, everyone will shout. Who's the rowdiest to win? We're not boots, no, RTA. We're not boots, go RTA. We're not boots, go RTA. Gangs on the corners looking for trouble. No hesitation, they've all got the bubble. Stompers are here, the fighters on the right. Always fighting up, living for a fight. We are the ones who have got the stuff. If they show any sense they won't pick on Us. The one in the front is giving it All he's But at the end of the night, We all shout. Who's the rowdiest to win? We're not boots, no, RTA. We're not boots, go RTA. We're not boots, go RTA. Oi, oi, oi, oi. Oi, oi, It's fucking here. Oi, Oi. Oi, oi, oi, oi. Who's the rowdiest Lot to win? We're boots, go RTA. We're not boots, go RTA. We're not boots, go RTA. We're not boots, go RTA. Oi, oi! Cheers.