We started at seven with everything fine
The Old People’s Dance would be over by nine
We were lovely and cuddly, wise and benign
It was Christmas and things were so festive
No reason for it to get restive.
But the signs were all there when they brought out the tea
(You all get your cuppa and biscuit for free)
But the shit hit the fan when old Mrs McGee
Who is a chocolate obsessive
Took two McVities Digestives.
The baking was done by two local nuns
Mr Singh was admiring their fresh Sally Lunns
When he said “I bet no-one has nibbled their buns”
We thought he was being suggestive
The atmosphere turned to oppressive.
And then when the Barn Dance became a Paul Jones
Reverend Tomlinson caused a few moans
Refusing to pass on that fastcat Ramone
But danced with her twice successive
Which everyone thought was excessive.
So young Mrs Tomlinson she waded in
(Who never left home without a large gin)
And caught her a pearler square on the chin
The band said the dance was progressive
It turned out though more like aggressive.
And Black Widow Bet led we church carol singers
We eagerly waited for gifts Santa brings us
But afterwards Santa gave Bet his best fingers
Though she tried to keep it suppressive
Her grunting was rather excessive.
And everyone thought that it was a bit much
When Florence’s hand held Mr Green’s crotch
It certainly looked more a feel than a touch
His smile was very expressive
It seems her grip was compressive.
So Mrs Green leapt from her cart by the wall
And keening a war cry entered the brawl
The Barn Dance resembled a scrum or a maul
Her rucking was hugely impressive
Though scarcely Christian or festive.
Well round about eight the police would appear
So that’ll be that till this time next year
For a bunch of old gits and senile old dears
Far from decrepit depressives
For old codgers you’ll find us impressive.
