I was destined to become a Festivalgoer.
The length of my hair and sandals for shoes
Never cut much ice on a night club door
The big men in black always wanted more
Even when, despite long hair and stubble
They did let me in; I was always in trouble.
When caught in the ladies in a state of undress
With a charming young lady - who'd not settle for less.
My slight frame and the cries of the girl
Were no deterrent as they elected to hurl
Me down the stairs and on to my face,
I upset them more when my lack of grace
Allowed me to bleed on the foyer floor
All I wanted to do now was head for the door
But with six gorillas on me there was little hope
I tried to ask nicely for the return of my dope
Someone replied with a stamp on my head
I decided it best to lay and play dead
My partner by now, I could hear in hysterics
My best friend was calling the police and medics
He'd wanted to report a vicious assault
'They're on their way' reassured control
Then arrested the caller on their arrival
Which at least offered me a hope of survival
But far from pleasant was my eventual fate
As police and doormen became best mates
Bouncers and Bobbies share a mutual hobby
The un-gentle art of beating up bodies
Alas that night the body was mine
And all for committing a victimless crime
Why can't the staff be more benign?
Who are there, in theory, to help us have a good time?
So why run the risk of black and blue clad Nazis?
When all I'm out for is a good honest party
I tend to avoid nightclubs and such
In favour of open air and Festival mud.

Paul Francis