We’re out on the town for the Mardi Gras
From Bohemia to Rockanore
Bustling and hustling from bar to bar
Like soldiers going to war

An army of hedonists ready to fight
Up for adventures in sound
For the right to party all day and all night
All over this tremulous town

A hundred and thirty acts without pause
Three hundred and fifty sets
Thousands of rounds of warm applause
This is as good as it gets

There’s heavy dub
at the Angling Club
An Irish jig
at the Pig
Hard rock style
at the Carlisle
Bluegrass
down at the Brass

Soul, funk, reggae, punk
Course through Hastings’ veins
Invigorated, high and drunk
We’re on the march again

Sweat pours from performers’ pores
Marshall amps rattle and hum
We’re shoulder to shoulder on twenty dancefloors 

Hooked to the beat of the drum

At the Standard
the landlord
is rubbing his hands

It’s roaring at the Dragon
Leaping at the Dolphin
They’re on one at the Albion

It’s an all-nighter at the Piper
All-dayer at The Trader
The Nelson’s like bloody Trafalgar

They’re sinking stout
at the First In Last Out

at the Jenny Lind  

It’s going down at the Crown
They’re slaughtered in Porters
Wankered at the Anchor
And there’s mass inebriation
at the Angling Association

The dirty old town is reverberating
Back from lockdown death
A living, smiling, dancing thing
Singing with one breath

If you could see us from above
Streets of sodium light
A swirling crowd of beat and love
Shining in the seaside night

We refuse to stay at home
We’ll sing and drink and shout
We are an urban metronome
Hastings town is out out.