Disco Floor

The disco, the night, the stance and the pose, The dance in the rainbow of lights. And the bad boys that stand just watching bad girls, Bad girls who’re wearing black tights. No talking inside, nothing said or expressed, Primal ears thumped out to a beat. People connect, advertising their motives, Motives consumed by people on heat. And there’s others that zone, in their own little world, Their bubble designed on a tune. These people dance and sway their own inner self, Sailing their own little boat on the moon. With the drugs and the shots, the whisky and rum, And the juice, hooch, vino, and sauced Mary Jane. It’s all on display every night at the disco, A night where people go to be that insane.