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In the streets around here |
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there was nobody tougher than me, |
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I was quick with me fists and fast with me |
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footwork as you can plainly see, |
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But while fighting was useful for getting your way, |
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Among the toughs of the town where you could hold sway, |
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There had to be something that was better than this, |
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I was fifteen years old and I'd never been kissed. |
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Well of course she'd ignore me, her friends would all sneer, |
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At me bloody nose dripping and me cauliflower ear, |
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For it's hard to convince in a romantic pose, |
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With a lovely black eye and a broken nose, |
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Where a girl is attracted to skills more refined, |
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Than the pugilist's art, and so I inclined, |
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To take meself serious as a modern romancer, |
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And I secretly learnt all the moves of a dancer. |
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Ye swing to the left, ye swing to the right, |
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Keep your eyes on your partner, more or less like a fight, |
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Ye just follow the rhythm, and ye keep to the beat, |
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The important thing's never to look at your feet, |
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Then a miracle happens, your mind's in a trance, |
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Though the strategy's subtle, retreat and advance, |
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It's all about attitude, all in your stance, |
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Attention to detail, leaving nothing to chance, |
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Which explains how the pugilist finally learned how to dance. |
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Well, I'd waltz with a broomstick and if I was caught, |
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I'd pretend I was sweeping or practicing sport, |
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But I really had eyes for your mother ye see, |
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Wanting her to acknowledge this new version of me, |
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But now everyone's watching, expecting I'll fail, |
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But there's fire in me belly, there's wind in me sails, |
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I knew it was risky and I was taking a chance, |
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I couldn't retreat now, I had to advance. |
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So I swing to the left, I swing to the right, |
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Keep me eyes on me partner, like I would in a fight, |
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I just keep to the rhythm and follow the beat, |
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The important thing's never to look at yr feet, |
| [02:42.030] |
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But a miracle's happened, and your mind's in a trance, |
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They're all laughing and cheering and looking askance, |
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On the night that the pugilist finally learned how to dance. |
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It's a three-minute round and you're back in yr corner, |
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You're licking yr wounds just like little Jack Horner, |
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Don't let your guard down try a jab with your right, |
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Or you're losing on points by the end of the night, |
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Then a miracle happens, and everyone's screaming, |
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You're pinching yourself just in case you're still dreaming, |
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You've taken the initiative, you've taken your chance, |
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It's the night when this pugilist finally learned how to dance. |
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In a bout where the strategist's bridges were burned, |
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Where it seemed that his fortune had suddenly turned, |
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'Twas the night that this scrapper was suddenly dapper, |
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And this poor fellow's heart was still going like the clappers, |
| [03:49.000] |
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The night that the pugilist finally learned how to dance. |
