Emma Goldman: If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your revolution.
cost me 300 dollars not to dance
to a sting, at a concert
said i’ll dance where i wanna
stand on my seat n sing Roxanne outta tune, if I wanna
so you can sit back n watch the back o my butt
swaying, lilting
you can see it swinging, and I’ll pirouette the aisles
in a rhythm, out to the 7/11
in a mini-mart spin, and spin and spin
and i’m jiggin up the escalator from the underground
up into the mall, all through town,
a cha cha with the bar staff, uh
do the mash-potato to a ghetto-blaster, uh
on the 1am train, then boogie to sleep
countin sheep to a four/four beat
til i wake up, get up
lets dance on the 6.30AM bus to whitfords
sing a little ditty to the driver, a smartcard do-se-do
dance the day-away, feet moving under my desk
doof doof doof
its you doing a car-dance, a drive-show freeway disco
put on your red shoes and dance the blues
a wise man once said
and we shimmy to the jazz bleeding from city bricks
i’m a concrete foxtrot in a blackspot
and i still can’t dance to the yacht rock
which is not rock
in any way - for those about to yacht, we refute you
but hey, i’ll try
i dance to all the wrong songs
123 123
we can waltz the cracks in the pavement
in time to the green walking man
like a grand funk movement
it’s a moonwalk across st georges
a ballet at maccas, dance thru the drive-thru
or a blue-tie suit, mullet-face broken in
a classic sway across the lower house
on the hill
break up the footpath with my toes
and you can’t stop me, uh-uh
i rock like there’s nobody watching uh-uh
sing like there’s nobody listening uh-uh
there’s a beat in me
and i shout like an ocean
wag my tail like a chitty chitty
until they shut me down
but they’ll need a bigger stick
to stop me dancing
coz i’ll maybe stop dancing
when i’m dead
and even then
you can dance on my grave
like there’s nobody watching