I've Still Got Those Disco Moves

Stag night, alright:

all aboard the Tuxedo Princess

sailing to ‘Cuba’,

without leaving Tyne Dock.

Slow feet, missed beat:

don’t care at all when the music

takes me wherever

it was that I miss now.

Just dance, your chance

to communicate with untied-tongue

jiving to Magaluf,

but still in the Mecca ballroom.

JT, that’s me:

that night fever I remember

in a northern town,

pretending it was Manhattan.

Still bold, too old

when I step out on the dance floor

stumbling on the rhythm

and running out of time.