Youth club disco 1979
Dunlop green flash whitened for the night,
just bleached my jeans, they're a bit too tight.
Down the backs with cans of special brew,
I still retch at the thought of necking Clandew.
We get served because my mate has a beard
and we're only 14 so thatís a bit weird.
Slapping footsteps in a drunken run,
alcohol consumed, the night has begun.
Ticket in pocket, met friends on the way,
album under arm with a great track to play.
Queued on the door but quickly inside,
the smell of stale halls where youth clubs reside.
Canít move for kids 14 and above,
all feeling great and looking for love.
Been up to the decks so my song will get played,
'Highway to Hell' and weíre on centre stage.
The drink kicks in and my face has gone numb,
Thin Lizzy are on inhibitions have gone.
Bounce through the night head banging for fun,
canít get up to the Jam and the Pistols are on.
Avoid the psychotics whose main aim is to scrap,
stick with my mates and sit at the back.
The smoochin starts and lights blind our eyes,
itís time to leave and weíre quickly outside.
Walking home and my mouth is dry,
shouting a song at the clear night sky.
The chip shop pilgrimage has begun,
as the lemming like hoards move as one.
Onto the high Street for the Silver Stream fight,
police turn up so that's it for the night.
Try to be quite because I'm too young to drink
but I always get caught because I'm too young to think.
Stupid grins and gravy stained shirt,
I tiptoed past parents on full alert.
Finally in bed as the room slowly spins,
Friday night vomit as the weekend begins.