The Night the Pugilist Learned How to Dance sing and play along

In the streets around here,

there was nobody tougher than me.

I was quick with me fists and fast with me footwork,

as you can plainly see.

But while fighting was useful

for getting your way among the toughs of the town

where you could hold sway, there had to be something

that was better than this.

I was fifteen years old

and I'd never been kissed.

Well, of course she'd ignore me;

her friends would all sneer at me bloody nose dripping

and me cauliflow'r ear.

For it's hard to convince

in a romantic pose with a lovely black eye and a broken nose,

sion of me.

where a girl is attracted to skills more refined than the pugilist's art.

ly,

And so, I inclined

to take meself serious

as a was modern romancer,

and I secretly learned all the moves of a dancer.

You swing to the left,

you swing to the right,

keep your eyes on your partner,

more or less like a fight.

You just follow the rhythm

and you keep to the beat.

The important thing's never to look at your feet.

Then a miracle happens;

your your mind's in a trance,

though the strategy's subtle:

retreat and advance.

It's all about attitude, all in your stance,

attention to detail, leaving nothing to chance;

which explains how the pugilist finally learned how to dance.

Well, I'd on the night that the pugilist

finally learned how to dance.

It's a threeminute round and you're back in your corner.

You're licking your wounds just like Little Jack Horner.

Don't let your guard down;

try a jab with your right,

or you're losing on points by the end of the night.

Then a miracle happens

and ev'ryone's screaming.

You're pinching yourself just in case you're still dreaming.

You've taken th'initiative,

you've taken your chance.

It's the night when this pugilist finally learned how to dance.

In a bout where the strategist's bridges were burned,

where it seemed that his fortune had suddenly turned,

'twas the night that this scrapper was suddenly dapper.

This poor fellow's heart was still going like the clappers the night that the pugilist finally learned how to dance.