[Verse 1: Rasping samba-rock male lead, samba-rock, rasping] Sunday on the hill and the tar's too hot to stand Two flip-flops for the goalposts and a ball in my hand Academy van rolls up with the windows tinted black Eleven kids in matching kits and a coach in the back Shin guards, screw-in studs, and their names on the bags Brand new socks pulled high and the price still on the tags Said they heard about the hill and they came up to play Looked down at our bare feet and they laughed all the way Fine, we play, but you play it by the street Curb is the line and the rule is bare feet [Hook: Rasping samba-rock male lead, samba-rock, full voice] Cleats off at the curb, we play it barefoot here Two flip-flops for a goal and the whole hill in your ear Hot street, bare feet, run it till you bleed Cleats off at the curb, that's all the shoes you need [Verse 2: Rasping samba-rock male lead, samba-rock, faster] They line up their cleats on the curb in a row Step out on the tar and they're up on their toes Hopping like the street is a pan on the stove While the old men laugh from the bar down the road Our feet been on this tar since the day we could crawl Soles like a saddle and we never feel at all First goal, mine, through the flip-flops low Second goal, Tiago, off the wall and it goes Third goal, nutmeg, and the coach drops his phone Academy kids looking at the van to go home Halftime they say play us on the grass next week Sure, bring the grass, but you play on bare feet [Bridge: Rasping samba-rock male lead, long goal call, held over the surdos as the hill answers] Goooooooool From the bakery to the bus stop they can hear it down the hill Goooooooool Grandma on the balcony is banging on the sill [Hook: Rasping samba-rock male lead, samba-rock, full voice] Cleats off at the curb, we play it barefoot here Two flip-flops for a goal and the whole hill in your ear Hot street, bare feet, run it till you bleed Cleats off at the curb, that's all the shoes you need [Verse 3: Rasping samba-rock male lead, samba-rock, all the way up] Nine to two at sundown and the tar's still warm Academy van leaves with the coach in a storm Next Sunday morning, one kid comes on his own Cleats over his shoulder and he's walking up alone Leaves 'em at the curb for the kid who's got none Takes his place on the tar and he plays in the sun Feet all burning and he's laughing at the pain Now he's one of ours, and we don't ask his name [Final Hook: Rasping samba-rock male lead, samba-rock, full voice] Cleats off at the curb, we play it barefoot here Two flip-flops for a goal and the whole hill in your ear Hot street, bare feet, run it till you bleed Cleats off at the curb, that's all the shoes you need [End]
