The colours are green, the colours are blue,
When you’re born in this world they give the colours to you,
You don’t have a choice.
In a city that’s shaped by the scars of the past,
Our colours are taken, nailed to the mast,
To the songs of the tribes.
Some blame it on religion, some call it “The Holy War”
A subdivision to cut a city to the core,
Another derby day, another casualty,
And all the papers say “it’s just another Saturday.”
One hundred years of hate and violence,
Has brought you home to deathly silence,
Your son’s not coming home.
History revisited by drunk teenage boys,
Too young to remember it, but old enough to die,
And the papers say “wrong place, wrong time.”
This is our city and these are our colours.
Bang the drum, bang the drum, you’re up to your knees in hate
Who taught you to hate?
In a city that’s shaped by the scars of the past,
Our colours are taken, nailed to the mast,
To the songs of the tribes.
The colours are green, the colours are blue,
When you’re born in this world they give the colours to you,
You don’t have a choice