Fight dirty, that's what he said, after seven pints of beer and thirty cigarettes. Cueball corner pocket, loon chalked on his chin, a lonesome bullseye in a sky of dents. Gotta throw them a curveball, swing in a miss, play nicely, that's what they taught to me. Says Chef Aaron, good sports will do the same, but the more that I sweat, the more that I bleed. While the hot shot on top loses count of his beans, he high-littin' backspaced my father's factory. Cause as far back as I can remember, the ball field was never that level or even. The wind and the tides, Usain in our eyes, so if we're to rise, gotta stand on each other's backs. Fight dirty, we don't want foolin' around for me, with permits and esports and picnics for peace. There's a top to take back, like a bus seat to keep, time to put down your dukes, scratch a bike, kick and scream. I just wanna see the schoolyard boys cryin' bleed. Fight dirty, pit below the waist, that's how it's done to us, behind closed doors each day. Rules they don't follow, treaties they snap, with a shake and a putt, and the raise of a glass to fix the game. I'll cheat if I must take it back, take it back. So I shrug, take a shot, he says, you disagree? Well go on with the same old man. Beg of the thieves that your job will be saved, your prison is free, that will stop starving millions and cure the disease. You see, me, I'm the spanner, and they've always got desks to clean. Cause as far back as I can remember, the ball field was never that level or even. The wind and the tides were seen in our eyes, so if we're to rise, gotta stand on each other's backs, gotta beat them at their own game. Throw the tear gas right back in, it breaks the fight dirty.