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Far off the beaten track and trail on quest for music’s Holy Grail led pilgrims on biblical scale more than can be counted. With midsummer sun on our cheek in tents to shelter we did seek and pitched them at its highest peak on a hilltop mounted As we climbed the lean of the hill my beer I would try not to spill and sat with the great unwashed till olé and adios. It was I, El Skeet, amigo, in my poncho and sombrero half-cut like a loco gringo who waved “vaya con dios!” We lit yet another hash bong all up in smoke like Cheech & Chong and passed it to each one along away from the coppers. Till late as wasted brain cells flag with every mind trip headfu-ck drag I tucked in to my sleeping bag on the hill ‘neath the stars As music and mayhem did rage back in next summer’s youthful age we camped closer to the big stage by a shallow hollow. I’d sit and watch the crowds go by in the hot sun and dust and dry under a big Waikato sky from our camp on tent row And as I ripped in with the guys to our grog trailer of supplies we made a hanging chain of ties with every pull tab rent. Waiting for Cold Chisel that night with a superdoob glowing bright I was fuc-kin’ high as a kite and lurched back to my tent The next day I woke in a daze and walked off my drunken malaise when I heard singing songs of praise in some weird sh-it I saw. Tambourine hippies, punks and geeks and chanting Hari Krishna freaks burnt incense in clay painted cheeks so I got high some more Yet in a hot wet and wild hour stoned in the unisex shower I gazed many a sweet flower in their naked splendour. We bathed too in waters that flowed down where the lazy river bowed lest my head spontaneous explode on my three day bender That night by the stars we were led as above a smoky sky bled when out The Enz rocked “I See Red” and fired a burning flare. In the spirit of Sweetwaters we lived among at close quarters sons of Bacchus and his daughters and I so revelled there Written: November 2009 Sweetwaters was an annual three day music festival back in 1980s.
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