Leicester City Codexery

We Are The Kings

A city's roar, a thousand seasons compressed into four words sung in unison.

"We Are The Kings" is the signature chant of Leicester City Football Club supporters, a simple, thundering declaration of identity that has become one of the most recognisable cries in English football. Long sung in the stands at Filbert Street and later the King Power Stadium, it crystallised into a global phenomenon during the extraordinary 2015-16 Premier League title season, when a club entering the campaign at 5000-to-1 odds defied every expectation to win the top flight for the first time in the modern era.

The chant is more than a song; it is a compact statement of belonging for a city and a fanbase that has endured relegation battles, financial constraints, and decades of mid-table obscurity. When thousands of voices raise it in unison, it carries the weight of every season the Foxes were overlooked, and it transforms a football match into a collective act of defiance and pride.

Chant
We Are The Kings
Club
Leicester City Football Club
Founded
1884 (as Leicester Fossians)
Home Ground
King Power Stadium
Nickname
The Foxes
Premier League Title
2015–16
FA Cup Wins
1961, 1964

Lore & Background

The identity behind "We Are The Kings" is layered. Leicester City was founded in 1884 as Leicester Fossians, a working-class club rooted in the city's canal-side and market-square communities. The Foxes nickname came early, and the club built a loyal following through the interwar years, the post-war First Division title of 1948-49, and the FA Cup triumphs of 1961 and 1964. For decades, the home was Filbert Street, a ground with a tight, intimate atmosphere where the away end was a short walk from the pitch and the crowd noise could physically rattle the stands. The chant existed in various forms in those days, a local refrain rather than a global brand.

The move to the King Power Stadium in 2002 gave the supporters a larger, more modern arena, and the chant evolved alongside the club's identity. The word "Kings" carried a dual resonance: the royal connotation of the King Power naming, and the deeper, almost mythic claim that a city of modest means could crown itself. It was not a boast of wealth or history; it was a promise. When the 2015-16 season unfolded, that promise became reality in a way no one in the football world had priced in. The chant, once a local ritual, was broadcast to hundreds of millions of viewers, and supporters across the globe adopted it as their own.

What makes the chant endure beyond that single season is its simplicity. There is no complex melody, no extended verse. Four words, repeated, rising in volume until the air vibrates. It is a chant that a child can learn in one go, that a grandparent can belt out after fifty years of attendance, that a new fan can join on their very first match. In a football culture saturated with elaborate songs and inside jokes, "We Are The Kings" is a declaration that needs no explanation. You either are, or you are not.

In Their Own Story

The away bus pulls into the car park at 15:40. The floodlights are already humming, casting a cold blue wash over the grass. A group of lads in claret and blue scarves spill out of the turnstiles, and the first notes hit the air before the teams have even walked out. It starts low, a murmur from the North Stand, then the Far East picks it up, and suddenly the whole bowl is a single throat. "We are the—" A wave of hands. "—Kings." The ball drops. The first touch is a pass back to the keeper, casual, almost bored, and the roar swells again as if the mere fact that the game is happening is enough. Somewhere in the crowd, a woman in her seventies, scarf knotted under her chin, sings it the way she did at Filbert Street in '94, when the season had been a slog and the result a 1-0 win that meant nothing to the rest of the league but everything to her. The keeper clears. The chant resets. The city breathes in, breathes out. It is not a stadium. It is a congregation.

Reader's Guide

Arrive early. The King Power Stadium rewards those who walk the perimeter before kickoff, catching the pre-match atmosphere as the stands fill and the first scattered notes of the chant ripple across the concourse. The away end sits at the North Stand; home supporters occupy the South, East, and West sections, with the Far East Stand often producing the most sustained vocal pressure.

The matchday ritual is straightforward. Scarves in claret and blue, the Foxes badge visible, and a willingness to join the four-word refrain even if you have never sung in a crowd before. The rhythm is simple: a call-and-response that builds in waves, punctuated by the team name and the season's mood. You do not need to know the lyrics to feel them.

The stadium architecture is modern but not sterile. The roofline is low and the stands are close to the touchline, preserving the intimacy that Filbert Street was famous for. On big nights, the noise concentrates under the roof and bounces back down, creating a physical pressure you feel in your chest more than hear in your ears.

Leicester's identity is working-class, stubborn, and unshowy. There is no pretension in the support. The chant is not a performance; it is a statement. You are here. You belong. And for ninety minutes, the city is not a mid-market town on the M1. It is a kingdom, and the roar is its coronation.

Did You Know?

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