Saturday night, I feel the air is getting hot,
gearing up for some pre-drinks,
then heading into Notts.
Round to my mates,
he's already playing Dance Classics by Kisstory,
an insight into British club history in all its glory.
The splendour of The Hacienda,
Fabric sounded magic,
the thrills at Turnmills.
Blasting out Where Love Lives by Alison Limerick,
Too Young To Die by Jamiroquai,
and Sounds of Eden by Shades of Rhythm.
It gets you in the mood,
of course it does, how can it not?
We sit around talking a lot,
then login to Facebook,
see which bars are offering what,
pound-a-pint and half-price shots.
Text around,
who else is in town?
We'll give you a shout once we get to Revolution,
the club solution is Oceania.
Disco floor,
we know the bouncers on the door.
Cut the queue,
annoying for everyone else,
but you would do it too.
Throwin' shapes with my mates all night,
break-dancing, the robot, pop n' lock until two o'clock,
a bunch of geeks,
we're too pissed to care about critiques.
Anyway, we're having a good time,
a bottle of Corona with a wedge of lime,
a few shots of Sambuca,
I'm doing fine.
I'm starving, time to get some food,
ravenous,
it's a whole mood,
into the nearest takeaway,
look at the display,
ten-inch pizza, or just some fries? Maybe both?
I'll go for a Kebab, chicken and salad, with added Mayo,
let's go,
there's a party starting nearby,
people getting high with a constant supply.
It's getting light out,
people are asleep around my feet,
time to leave,
walking back from the city,
this place looks pretty with the morning dew and light layers of fog,
one hardcore runner out for a jog.
Later that day, a bit hungover,
I swear I'm never going to drink again,
well, not for a few weeks anyway,
maybe next weekend,
if there's another night-out, I might attend.
Might?
What a load of shite.
I'm definitely going and show no signs of slowing down,
that point will come,
but for now, I'm still young,
just go out and have some fun.