| Trevor was a skinhead, he was sitting at the bar, |
| Sipping at his pint of beer and listening to ska. |
| Well he loves his Punk! He loves his Oi! Trevor is our boy |
| And as the firm go marching in he shouts out Oi! Oi! Oi! |
| At the age of thirty seven he’ll be a skinhead 'til he dies. |
| Boots and braces, West Ham shirt he’s shouting battle cries. |
| Yeah, Trevor loves his scene and Trevor knows his roots. |
| A working man that needs a drink, that skinhead knows the truth. |
| Then our mate Trevor does the stomp, with his boots and braces on. |
| Propping up the bar, our Trevor knows the score. |
| Out for a laugh, not out for a fight, he’ll be having it tonight. |
| Our mate Trevor, this goes out to you, our song. |
| Fucking great scene’s what we got with every punk and skin. |
| The pigs who stop us in the streets don’t understand a thing, |
| Because this movement is so positive, between us there’s no hate. |
| If everyone could be like Trev this world would be a better place. |
| Our mate Trevor does the stomp, with his boots and braces on. |
| Propping up the bar, our Trevor knows the score. |
| Out for a laugh, not out for a fight, he’ll be having it tonight. |
| Our mate Trevor, this goes out to you, our song. |
| Our mate Trevor, this goes out to you, our song. |