My neighbour, Mrs. Fanshaw, Is portly-plump and gay, She must be over sixty-seven, If she is a day. You might have thought her life was dull, It's one long whirl instead. I asked her all about it, And this is what she said: I've joined an Olde Thyme Dance Club, The trouble is that there Are too many ladies over, And no gentlemen to spare. It seems a shame, it's not the same, But still it has to be, Some ladies have to dance together, One of them is me. Stately as a galleon, I sail across the floor, Doing the Military Two-step, As in the days of yore. I dance with Mrs. Tiverton; She's light on her feet in spite Of turning the scale at fourteen stone And being of medium height. So gay the band, So giddy the sight, Full evening dress is a must, But the zest goes out of a beautiful waltz When you dance it bust to bust. So, stately as two galleons, We sail across the floor, Doing the Valse Valeta, As in the days of yore. The gent is Mrs. Tiverton, I am her lady fair. She bows to me ever so nicely And I curtsey to her her with care. So gay the band, So giddy the sight, But it's not the same in the end, For a lady is never a gentleman, though She may be your bosom friend. So, stately as a galleon, I sail across the floor, Doing the dear old Lancers, As in the days of yore. I'm led by Mrs. Tiverton, She swings me round and round, And though she manoeuvres me wonderfully well I never get off the ground. So gay the band, So giddy the sight, I try not to get depressed. And it's done me a power of good to explode, And get this lot off my chest.

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