For the uninitiated, when a dance is called a Paul Jones it means it becomes progressive; that is, you pass your partner on to the next gentleman in front of you and inherit the partner of the gentleman behind you.  This is what used to pass for dogging.

 

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 that he’d like to nibble 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.

 

Then young Mrs Tomlinson she waded in

(Who never left home without a large gin)

And caught her a pearler square on the chin

They said that the dance was progressive

It turned out more like aggressive.

 

And all of us thought that it was a bit much

When Florence’s hand grazed Mr Green’s crutch

We certainly thought it a feel not a touch

His smile was very expressive

It seemed her grip was compressive.

 

Then Mrs Green sprang 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 very impressive

But scarcely Christian or festive.

 

So round about eight the police would appear

And so that will be that until the next year

For a bunch of Old Gits and senile Old Dears

Far from dreary depressives

For Old Codgers you’ll find us impressive.