Cheerleaders

My house is less than a block from a junior high school. At this time of year, the athletic field is taken over by 12 to 14 year olds (and their parents) practicing football and cheerleading. Also, my street is jam packed with minivans and suburban assault vehicles. My own SAV can barely fit between them. Anyway, I hear the cheerleaders practicing as I sit at my desk. I can never quite make up the words, so I make them up. In my mind, the cheers go something like this:

Gooooooo US!
Beeeeaaaat YOU!
US not YOU!
US not YOU!
You’re not us!
We’re not you!
US US US!

Or perhaps:

Let’s go our team!
Kill those others!
Break them stomp them!
Then come kiss me!
Gooooooo kill!
Theeeeeen neck!
US US US!