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 waited in vain for gifts Santa might bring us

Since Bet was outside stuck on Santa's two 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.