King Shag Column

Rip It Up, Issue 67, 1 February 1983, Page 4

King Shag Column

SWEETWATERS by ARRY, age 21.

The on-site pub was rather slack It ’ad lon Red, cold but flat The clientele was just the pits Ninety per cent male - more tats than tits Then there’s the cops in their clean blue suits The only ones around without piss on their boots From the thunderbox, which the flies surround And banquet on all the shit in the ground There’s the rastas in their natty dreadlocks But who’s got a caravan with a garbage box? Coz I wanna see the cricket, I wanna know the score It’s more entertaining than this bore So check out the Furs, they’re more my taste But the guy behind the mixing desk was a fucking disgrace Off to the backstage bar and see hundreds there But it’s just like Mainstreet, with badly priced beer But at least they’ve got a can where you can shit in peace And ’ave no risk of catching ’erpes But the guys at the gate just wanna see my pass I said it’s in me pocket, so shove it up your arse And over by mainstage there’s a new sportee It’s called see ’ow far you can get up a cabbage tree Without letting beer cans make you hit the dirt But this was for the guys with the AC/DC shirts So where is the editor, let’s get out of this place I wanna go ’ome and I wanna wash me face So out it is for some nice fresh air A nice clean shirt and some fresh cold beer Fucking ’orrible, isn’t it?