T In The Lounge
What’s the attraction of festivals?
The discomfort and the expense?
The downside is really extensive -
Haven’t people got any sense?
They’re desperate to go to Glasto
Have a great blast-o
Get absolutely plast-o
Sail before the mast-o
Get stoned fast-o
Or that other great festival
The aptly-named Bestival
Where you get no rest-ival
Patience put to the test-ival
The insects are a jest-ival
And you head gets messed-ival
Then there’s T In The Park
With rock music to hark
Mongrels to bark
Snort a good narc
Chance to make your mark
As you pee in the dark
Nip over to the Isle of Wight
Use all your might
Get in a mud-fight
Or as high as a kite
Not feeling too bright
Well out-of-sight
Go to bed tight
I suppose it’s about the music,
But who wants expensive booze?
Cheesy chips, over-priced, greasy food?
And queuing just to use the portaloos?
Chemical toilets are a real downer,
And with the exposure to the sun’s rays,
The sunburn, the dehydration,
The not washing for five days.
And then there’s the camping,
Sleeping out on lumpy ground,
And even with elegant glamping,
A tent that can never be found.
Watching the stage from half a mile away,
The sound is distorted and loud.
There’s a chance of food-poisoning,
And you get lost in the crowd.
The bouncers and security men are rough,
It’s quite a dud, in an ocean of mud,
Plastic glasses and polystyrene cups,
And warm cider’s really no good.
I could get very bitter
About all the litter
But I’m not a big-hitter
I get all of a jitter
I’m a miserable critter
I can’t help but witter
You see - I’m sofa-seat sitter
I like all the comforts of home:
A bed, a shower, and a good seat.
I can still eat shit food if I want to,
But watching on TV’s quite hard to beat!
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