The DJ comes on at ten
As seventeen year old girls totter in
On six inch heels, in boob tubes
And skirts that parents would shake their heads at.
He only plays songs that get them dancing
While clutching their Bacardi Breezers
And singing their hearts out,
Eyeing up boys who will buy them shots
And share fishbowls of something blue.
The barman throws bottles of vodka,
Winking at the boys as they move in for the kiss,
They don’t know each other’s names
But there’s a chance they’ll end up in his bed,
With her sneaking out with those heels in her hand,
The sun rising hot, as she walks back in shame
But they’ll all be back the following night
Picking up others after too many Schnapps.