There's a kid who was born and was raised in the west There's a kid from the east who never really fit in with the rest Every week they would meet in the street with their friends With the guns that they made and the caps that they stole They would fight to their death
This time we'll have victory Last time ended in a defeat Our town becomes a battleground
West End Riot We'll be here next Saturday With our guns and our heads held high So listen up boys, you'd better not cry this time
See a bum on the street that you think you recognise Young kid never looked so bad, when he was only 4ft high Six o'clock runnin' home I don't wanna be late
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