[Verse 1]
You can choose any kind of Roman torture
Nobody leaves the line of suiciders
Please, pass me the ball,
I’ll just puncture it
[Chorus]
In the beginning was the Sport
The fresh blood flows out of your throat
When you’ve caught a dirty shot
But now humor does the same job
[Verse 2]
You can try driving nails into hands
No one awakes from an infernal coma
All the naked bodies
Can not turn the tide
[Chorus]
In the beginning was the Sport
The fresh blood flows out of your throat
When you’ve caught a dirty shot
But now humor does the same job