Coming up on two yokes.

Nervous palpitation’s, chemicals on the way,
The tune’s and the club are starting to sway.
Place is full of heads and solid party folk’s.
You rush to the jack’s and puke up your yokes.

Kneeling in the piss, finger’s in the bowl,
Both Mitsubishi’s, financed by the dole.
Quick wallet fumble confirming that your broke,
Back to the gaff, time for a smoke.

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