To him it's just another typical night
it's beautiful weather
for another lovely street fight.

For him this is just a job
throwing punches and
being surrounded by a mob.

No rules, no refs, no bell
gotta be smart and cunning
how this night will turnout
no one can tell.

All bets are in; no holds bar
many unhealed wounds
he remembers every scar.

No weapons brought here
just him and another man
having no worries, having no fear.

His only weapon is his hands
no music being played
no manager, no fans.

Using everything he has learned
skill, and street smarts
his opponent being caught
with a right as he turned.

With his weight and with all his might
swings the final blow
he knows he just won this fight

No medals or victory crown
no hurrays or cheers
just two guys worn down.

Fleeing the scene of midnight brawl
he walks away with his pay
the other slowly coming to a crawl.