June is here and it's usually queer
but this year there's only a march and a piss-up to fear
but suddenly there's news of a 'do' in the park (christ, last year was a lark, not! )
with shit pop for tanned meat heads in tight tees trying to tease but failing to please
and drunkenly crawling on their knees in the bushes and mud excited by the thud thud thud
from a nearby tent with sweaty walls and the stink of poppers and pollen
and there's a queue to buy tokens to obtain booze to help you forget the hell of the past six hours
but cheer up poofter stop being so sour
here comes Kylie with her shaved fanny and fucking huge smile
bet she didn't just pay six quid for a tray of noodles
and look at that tent
Delta Virgin and Smirnoff corporate ass lickers but just for today
over there the police looking to recruit a fruit to tick a box to show Blair they care
but I swear they care enough to know they will never love us not like we love ourselves
and I stop to wonder if this rain will empty the park
and then it gets dark
and Ken tells us we're great (we know that you cunt)
but we cheer him anyway
and drink down our dregs and pull up our keks and hold hands as we leave
but only as far as the gates.