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the dancing did - dancing did lyrics

below the haze of a sun*drenched spire
of a ruined abbey’s remaining tower
lies a market town in worcestershire

old market gardeners bring their fruit and veg yields
to this busy little island in its sea of fields
but nothing much moves now under the sinking sun
except for lorries to the canneries, carrying plums
and a figure on the high road, as he ambles into town
for on a friday evening he’s always there about this time
with a rеd coat of dust on his hobnial boots
a black mirror finish on his well worn suit
oak bark skin, squinting eye
deep porеd hook nose, he whistles like a lark
razor in his waistcoat, playful as a shark
and though his t**th don’t sparkle, his pocket watch shines
and says his six o’clock shadow is right on time
the road is his home, the ditch is his billet
he’s got a hat on his head with a pheasant feather in it

now some may call him ragam*ffin, rambler, alley sloper
vagrant, scatterling, ne’er do well, vagabond, landloper
stroller, wanderer, rover, scruffy ‘erbert, vicious sid
but folks round here just know him as the dancing did
the dancing didicoi, the dancing didicoi
since he was a boy, he’s been a dancing did

in the back room of the blue boar the jukebox blares out country and western sounds
there he stands surrounded by a crowd
a mug of cider in his hand as his toecaps tap the ground
the audience laugh and shout and clap and throw coins at his feet
for entertainment in this town you’ll find this hard to beat

- dancing did lyrics

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