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.