Brotherhood on the Dancefloor

Yo, Simon Zaki. My bruda from another moolah. Listen close,

let me take it back to the old school, dawg. Late nights,

East end to West, we owned the strip. Black cab jumping,

two men deep, never needed a clique. Egg London, 3:00 AM,

bass hitting like a heart attack. White trainers turning gray on a sticky dance floor

track. Fabrics Room one, smoke thick, lights cut like a blade.

You're screaming, "One more," while the DJ played to show his basement.

Low ceilings, sweat dripping from the roof. We laughed so hard the bouncers