We sat in a circle on the floor

We sat in a circle on the floor

Stone free

Taj Mahal on guitar

We were as one

With heads in the clouds

Full of dope and bad rhymes

Making words up on the fly

Jammin’ a good foot down

Was there ever a bad one

Twisting like James Brown

Without the cape.

We sat in a dressing room

Which resembled a toilet

Smelled like a brothel

Not that I would know

We were footloose

Halfway through an all-nighter

At the old Lyceum in the Strand

Not far from the Courts of Law

I never gave it a thought

There were bright young things

In very little

Giving it all away

For no good reason

Other than the changing of the times

They worked as interns

Or junior lawyers

At the Inns of Court

Ushered in the New World

With a flourish

Of red tape

To herald an age of equality

Up to a point

If only we had known

We could have charged

For the privilege

Of our company

They were well-heeled and naked

We were poor blue boys

And knackered

After an eight-hour marathon

There was fun to be had

For a while

Before it became a business

Happiness went out the window

We were caught between love and art

As a commodity

Which is pretty much

The way of things

As far as I can see

Nothing much has changed

I still cut a rug

After a few drinks

A soft shoe shuffle

Around the kitchen

Boogie with a little light jazz

And ‘This is the kit’

I still discriminate

Between one thing and another

But do not judge

Indiscriminately.