See me dance the polka

A fig for the set of Lancers,
A fig for the old Quadrille,
They may suit some kind of dancers,
But their dullness makes me ill;
A fig for the stately waltzing,
Which really is absurd;
On the small Cotillion, unsuited to the million,
I will not waste a word.

You should see me dance the Polka,
You should see me cover the ground,
You should see my coat-tails flying,
As I jump my partner round;
When the band commences playing,
My feet begin to go,
For a rollicking romping Polka
Is the jolliest fun I know.

I’ve danced it in the Ball room,
And then would dance it still;
I’ve danced it in a small room,
I’ve danced it on the hill.
With every kind of partner,
In every kind of hall,
I’ve even had to suffer, by dancing with a duffer
Who couldn’t do the step at all.

I know I’m rather active,
And not devoid of grace,
But still I’m unattractive,
In feature, form and face;
I have a simple fortune,
And lead a simple life,
You know what an old maid is? Well fourteen of those ladies
Offered to be my wife.
    
One of my rich relations
Was very fond of me,
From him I’d expectations,
In form of a legacy.
I calculated surely,
On a house and an acre or two,
So I went and got married, but my hopes miscarried,
And what was I to do?

He left me a copy of a polka,
And on the cover I found
A sketch of my coat-tails flying,
As I jumped my partners round;
When the band commences playing,
My feet begin to go,
For a rollicking romping Polka
Is the jolliest fun I know.

[To be sung a little slower, in rather a quavery voice]
But now I’m old and shaky,
My back is bent, you see,
My limbs are rather quaky,
And scarcely bear with me.
I’m never asked to dances,
I’m placed upon the shelf,
But altho’ I’m rheumatic, still as long as I’ve an attic,
I’ll dance it by myself.

You shall see me dance the Polka,
You shall see my coat-tails flying,
As I hobble myself around;
If I hear an organ playing,
So long as my strength don’t give,
I’ll dance that rollicking Polka,
The longest day I live.