T was in a blue mood , his open reflections on the isloation of his life floating like Jazz notes under a "pink moon

Everyone knew what the night would bring lots of D and A plenty of T and A

Poncho was in a red mood slanging with rage and needed to cook himself out of it , while shoving handfuls of salted peanuts down his gullet and slurping ice cold Fanta

With him big Phil from Notting Hill an old "face" from the sixties a pin up gangster with a "mars bar" weal scraping his left cheek and of course two "wag" slags in tow trussed up like French Poodles with "Bratz babe" stares and Gucci Handbags

Mishaque was a stouty blend of Irish "shrek" mixed with crazy Jafakain, his front was car dealing.

We're all prostitutes sir we're all selling ourselves for something