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.