Rocking on. Alright, Black Dog. Well, I was trying to miss it actually cause I was falling apart.

Far out. Celebration. John Paul Jones has now become the ah carrier of so many instruments it takes about five minutes to whiz round from one to the next, to the next, to the next, to the next, to the next, and I've got a harmonica somewhere too. This is getting worse. By the end of the gig, I won't be able to say a word.

Gonna sit down with all these lights and things. My poor brow is already sweating enough from my inefficiency tonight. Can you turn some of those big white lights off Mr. man with the lights? It's like a sauna bath. There you go, how's that? A bit of taste.

This is one for the ah, the donkey.

The lemon's gone, in fact I could do with some lemon for this, this situation here. So if anyone's got some lemon that they don't want. Ladis and gentlemen, on drums, John Bonham. Moby Dick.

Thank you very much. Good night. Good night Fort Worth.