| HE'S GOING IN FOR THIS DANCE NOW | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Poor Timothy Blobbs was a gay little spark Very fond of a dance at a ball Quite a smash with the girls, and at night after dark He'd see home one, the smartest of all But last night as attendance he danced at the house Of sweet Nellie so charming and kind From her yard came a dog, and he danced with poor Blobbs Holding on to his coat-tails behind. Chorus: So there's no more waltzes, or schottisches, or mazurkas For our poor young friend, I vow For the dog's teeth did the lancers With the seat of Blobbs pants, sirs And he's going in for this dance now. Young Harry Makefree was a pet of the dance But a twelvemonth ago he got wed Still, though married, he'd always be there when a chance Of a ball came around , so 'tis said But last week on returning from business one day He was fairly knocked right off his pins For a nurse at his door met him smiling and gay And said, 'Sir, you're presented with twins' Chorus: So there's no more waltzes, or schottisches, or mazurkas For our poor young friend, I vow With the bottle held so tightly, With the twins he waltzes nightly And he's going in for this dance now. Jim Swelldash was champion of all at the class Where the mazes of waltzes were taught And he'd treat all the girls, and drinks round he would pass Like a regular King at a Court But one day it leaked out that the cash he had spent Was his master's, well, so runs the tale And last week he was to an academy sent Known to wrong-doing folks as a jail. Chorus: So there's no more waltzes, or schottisches, or mazurkas For our poor young friend, I vow 'Stead of dress suit now he's wearing One that's marked with arrows staring And he's going in for this dance now. Tom Atkins, a dancer of wonderful grace In the army enlisted - good boy And where'er he was stationed the girls of the place With our Tom a good dance would enjoy But he went to the wars - lost a leg and an arm But the thing that broke poor Tommy's heart As no pension he had and no wife could support Like a man he gave up his sweetheart. Chorus: So there's no more waltzes, or schottisches, or mazurkas For our soldier friend, I vow Though well praised in the dispatches, In the streets he's selling matches And he's going in for this dance now. |
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| Written and composed by E.W. Rogers - 1906 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Performed by Vesta Tilley (1864-1952) | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| From monologues.co.uk Music Hall Lyrics Collection | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||