Feeling Groovy

Whipping out the twelve tens
necking the doves
the late blurry eighties
a second summer of love
rushing and rinsing and our
language exclusive
drugs all around
we’re all sorted and sound
we’re sound

Boxes and fishes,
bass beats and mixes
draw beating come-downs
after three disco biscuits
this is a tune, a choon
the bass starts to pound,
we’re all sorted and sound,
we’re sound.

Girls in short skirts
glow sticks and lollies
hooters and c’mons
the MCs were wicked
driving on four bongs
hot knives burn our lungs
with the motorway tipping
we arrive, we come up,
we’re sorted,
all sorted and sound

Av fell over,
too near to the speakers,
five thousand watts or more
hardcore, totally hardcore,
top buzz and the rider
a bubble and squeak
fast rhyming Jamaicans
shouts to the posse
all sorted and sound,
we’re sound.

The music drops to pianos
and the lasers kick in
we all raise our hands
and e-face and grin
hooters and whistles
air punches and kisses
and the bass drops again
mickey finn
do you remember?
all sorted, unsound
and sound.

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