Chumbawamba — Dance, Idiot, Dance lyrics

Lyrics

Here comes Nicholas, fiddle in hand
Into a world that he can’t understand
You can’t keep pace with the master
Race, his feet they’re going all over
The place — he can’t see his moves cos
There’s egg on his face. Dance, idiot
Dance! His body’s as stiff as
A cold lasagne, 'cos all he knows is
'Rule Brittannia'. His rhythm’s so bad
That we’re supposin' - maybe it’s cos
His legs are frozen? Shouldn’t be
Wearing lederhosen! Dance, idiot
Dance! Messianical look in his eye
Arms akimbo, slapping his thigh. He
Wrinkles his snout at a likely wench
(we've censored her answer and
Pardoned her French) — it’s hard for
Your average Ubermensch. Dance
Idiot, dance! Poor old Nicholas got
Up today, to Cecil Sharpe House he
Made his way. Wore his uniform just
To impress and said, «this must be the
Place, I guess, for joining the EFD-SS?»
Dance, idiot, dance!