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Audition at the Continental

Didn't we sock it to ‘em, mate,
Watched by the dancing girls
Whose rehearsal we'd broken.
Two gangling teens,  
Me in my wide brimmed,
Off white Trilby Hat,
Blowing a talentless parody
Of Sonny Terry on Streamline Train,
Belting it out on my  “A” keyed harmonica,
You with your imported Grey Stetson
And hand tooled cowboy boots,
On long term loan from Tex Milne,
Picking on your varnished
Cello style acoustic.
And when we started the harmony
I was ordered off stage to sit with the girls
And you played and sang Diamond Joe solo.
And you argued with the man
About the tuning of your guitar
All the way to the door
And still on to the street
As it closed in our faces,
Leaving us standing there,
Outside the Continental.

We ran a mini gauntlet
Of Saturday Morning local youths
Who seem to take offense
At our hats, and Tex's boots,
All the way up Anlaby Road
To Paragon Station
and the train back to Ellerby,
Defeated,
But unbowed,
To rehearse some more.
But didn't we sock it to ‘em,
Didn't we just sock it to ‘em mate.






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