Dance, Idiot, Dance

Here comes Nicholas, fiddle in hand,
into a world that he can't understand.
You can't keep pace with the master
race, his feet they're going all over
the place - he can't see his moves cos
there's egg on his face. Dance, idiot,
dance! His body's as stiff as
a cold lasagne, 'cos all he knows is
'Rule Brittannia'. His rhythm's so bad
that we're supposin' - maybe it's cos
his legs are frozen? Shouldn't be
wearing lederhosen! Dance, idiot,
dance! Messianical look in his eye,
arms akimbo, slapping his thigh. He
wrinkles his snout at a likely wench
(we've censored her answer and
pardoned her French) - it's hard for
your average Ubermensch. Dance,
idiot, dance! Poor old Nicholas got
up today, to Cecil Sharpe House he
made his way. Wore his uniform just
to impress and said, "this must be the
place, I guess, for joining the EFD-SS?"
Dance, idiot, dance!

Похожие новости.

You fly out as your smile wears thin I sigh knowing the mess you're it And you know that you can't get away And you know that you can't hide it from yourself Lonely

I fell in love with a working girl oh Lord she sure was sweet I met her down in the Red Light Tavern working on Bourbon Street Way down in the old

Як приємно осіннім вечором Увімкнути улюблену музику, Заварити гарячого чаю Та сидіти з цікавою книжкою... Як чудово осіннім вечором Подзвонити коханій дівчині І сказати - давай зустрінемось, Я так скучив за твоєю ніжністю! Вечір осінній - вологий, туманний, Дивний,

Bet it ain't a rainin' back home bet your sister's still on the phone Bet mama's in the kitchen cookin' fried chicken wishin' that I hadn't went wrong Oh but mama don't

Мне к тебе нельзя, до боли Письма в цель, ты помнишь Запах, цвет и волны, На подушке осень сна моих волос. И не держи в ладони, Мой портрет на волю. Не смогу, не помню Ни цветов, ни