This Club Sucks

hey've been playing Gary Numan for an hour,

And every Sister's song they ever made.

Warlock three times in a row,

Gothlings beg to hear Type O,

This really isn't worth the cover charge I paid.

Instead of dancing they're all standing on the floor,

Waving cigarettes and staring at their feet.

Then occasionally they pace (when they're not standing in place)

Too aloof to have a clue that there's a beat.

It's so smoky I can't even see the bar.

The machine is belching stenchy clouds of haze.

Turn it up a little more,

We haven't yet obscured the floor!

To find the doorway out of here would take five days.

In the summer there's no air conditioning,

And the winter leaves us chilled without a doubt.

When it's cold you see your breath.

I think we all would freeze to death

lest we make fires From the fliers they've passed out.

In the bathroom there are lumps of hotel soap,

And the toilet paper's running out again.

When I need to fix my tights,

There's some GUY in there despite

The sign above the door that clearly says WOMEN.

Don't even bother trying to ask for song requests.

The DJ will not play them so don't try.
If he says "yes" that's "no" to you.
And also "maybe" means "no" too,

So just go home and play some Robert Smith and cry.