I imagine it to go a little something like this
A whole lotta cocktail for the ladies-in-waiting, namely a beer or ten for the boys
Everyone dancing at the age-old disco, toe-to mid-nineteen-sixties-toe
A toke to choke everything oh so perfectly, smoke-screen supreme
A rather jovial parade all via seriously creepy masquerade
We will own the night, get to go all over again come morning time – glorious sunrise disguised by incredibly disheveled demise
A hangover to sort the men right from the boys
Draped pearl earrings mid-hair of the dog, a dickie-bow or three randomly attached to overpriced overhead chandeliers
The fear of God beginning to befall all of them, each and every last one
‘Til that flavoursome serenade all of its own accord gets to touch their lip all over again

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