AUC Football and the Atlanta Falcons

Lyrics

You can feel it from three blocks out.
The ground just hums.
Doesn't matter if it's Saturday, Sunday, or a Wednesday night.
The concrete sings before you even see the lights.

This is bigger than just one game.
This is the Atlanta Football Classic, man.
This is Morehouse maroon and Tuskegee crimson.
A rivalry that started way back in 1897, still breathing in this brand new lung of steel and glass.
The bands face off at halftime, a wall of sound.
Horns so sharp they could cut the sky open.
A legacy walking through the gates, right here on the Westside.

And the roof opens up, or it closes down tight.
And seventy thousand voices become one single light.
One sound.
One catastrophic, beautiful sound.
Right here on the edge of English Avenue.
Falcons red, United stripes, or college colors true.
It's the same damn roar.

Then there's Sunday.
Falcons Sunday.
The whole city in red and black.
Since August 26, 2017, this has been the church.
The smell of grilled onions and charcoal from the Gulch parking lots.
You can hear the CSX trains rumbling past on the tracks below, a low bass line to the pre-game hype.
We Rise Up. We chant it 'til we're hoarse.
Another weekend, another faith.

And the roof opens up, or it closes down tight.
And seventy thousand voices become one single light.
One sound.
One catastrophic, beautiful sound.
Right here on the edge of English Avenue.
Falcons red, United stripes, or college colors true.
It's the same damn roar.

Then the Five Stripes come to play.
A whole different energy.
The metallic echo when a goal hits the net, bouncing off the halo board.
That smell of fresh-cut pitch grass under the lights.
We built this thing in 2014, and now it's a religion.
All these histories, all these teams, sharing the same piece of dirt.

The lights go down.
The crowd streams out onto Northside Drive.
And all that's left is the echo.
The ghost of the cheer.
And a long, low whistle from a train heading west.