The Life of my Friday Night

After everyday, i have music to play. After every thursday, the music lives on friday.

With the life of a party

and the discipline of the marines,

we march down proud and hearty

unsuspecting we are only teens.

 

Into the stadium with great power

and our instruments brightly gleaming,

we remain strong hour by hour

putting down our enemies screaming.

 

Our Majors lead us into the battlefield,

with their maces high and never to yield.

Those respect demanding rods shine off whatever light,

weather it be the sun, stadium bulbs or

the raw gleam of our bands might.

 

As i see the cheering of the crowd,

as well as the heat of the game,

i prepare to scream with my horn heavily and proud

as if my immediate reward were fame.

 

All now with our fellow members,

we fearlessly blast on high.

The amazing burn of our music leaves only embers

to put down any unfair rumors that exist now only as a lie.

 

Attempt to divert your senses from our great musical blends.

Take your eyes to the front and lay the on the Director alongside the veterans.

Although they remain experienced and tranquil but far ready to singe.

They joke around like we do, except they're always ready to challenge.

 

Behold the Director presence powerful and a voice that can rattle your bones.

A piercing whistle and an experienced attitude, on the track his stature dons.

He kicks it with the old school, but in modern culture still owns.

Even with the mighty respect of his title, most of us just call him Jones.

 

Leave out not the dazzling flames

nor our true performances spice.

Such radiant passion flowing from them,

without effort is surely to entice.

With the alluring movements vary

from risque to concise.

Let their beautiful golden flairs lighten our games

as our music plays off into the night.

 

The audience gains not only our musical treat

as i cannot help but notice something with all of our feet.

Even with their eyes on the game sitting in their seat,

they remain nodding their heads and T.A.Pping to a very peculiar beat.

 

They do not fly like our spirit,

but instead live like our soul.

If you ever attended a game, how could you not hear it,

the bass and rhythm as their sticks roll.

 

We wear hardened faces to show intimidation,

even while a member can be as quiet as me.

Were as big as our own nation

even if were as close as family.

 

Our performances have left me tired

just as they have help me throw away all my fears.

The T.A.PPING beat and the cheer of the crowd to the Golden Essence of the S.O.S Express

Is always music to my ears.

The End

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