The cha cha bar was sliding
and we swam across the Scotchman on the rocks
(so many rocks and glass and sand)
In shock we docked in Fish Head Harbour
where the lights were dimmed
(Locked in, we couldn't see a thing )
The floor was tin,
the sky was oil,
the air was poisoned lager
and the juke box pumped out schlager
because no-one pulled the plugs
(so many plugs and sparks)
The live wives kept us dancing
Dance in brine, dance in seaweed