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.