Southern Fried Rock Poem by Robin Pratt

It's June
It's hot and sunny
It's Hyde Park, London, England
Thank the Lord for plastic bottles

The grass is dry just like Spain
There are games and chats and picnics
and lovers coiled like snakes
Thank the Lord for plastic bottles

The time is coming
sounds escaping from the arena
we amble along captivated by the day and anticipation
Thank the Lord for plastic bottles

Tickets poised in a river we flood in
the stage, the screens getting excited too
find a place, sit, drink and wait
Thank the Lord for plastic bottles

The sun drops to our right
the warm-ups warm up
the heat and intensity increase as the day cools
Thank the Lord for plastic bottles

Now they cometh the Kings arrive, Southern boys
strut onto their stage
break into life anthemic chants
Thank the Lord for plastic bottles

On our feet swell moving stagewards
Louder, better, thrilling music
giant screens show sweating faces, speakers throb their keening voices
Thank the Lord for plastic bottles

The climax coming cameras held high
thousands of little screens show tiny band
now's the time the beer is flying, spraying, dropping on all before
Thank the Lord for plastic bottles

Awesome crescendo, fantastic concert
All the favourites, new thrills too
Better than last time, skills increasing
wet and sticky, hoarse elated we fragment, depart and as we go
We thank you Lord for the plastic bottles