The Midnight Glide of Pauline Revere
Listen, my children, and you shall hear,
Of the famous wife of Paul Revere;
While Paul flivvered out on his midnight ride,
Do you think she camped at the old fireside?
Emphatically no, but like the modern girl,
She busted right out for a shimmie whirl,
She parked where the lights were glowing bright,
To do a few steps of the “Hold-Me-Tight;”
She “copped” a partner, a boy from college,
Who just returned from a hall of knowledge,
With a bean chuck full of “mule” and school,
This “rah-rah” boy was a dancing fool;
They dangled a hoof and shook them all,
From the “Frontporch-Swing” to the “Downstairs-Fall,”
When the band started jazzing that song of repose
Of “Just Kiss Me, Doc, and Burn All My Clothes,”
They would clinch and grapple in vise-like embrace,
And he’d plant his “map” up the side of her face.
With his right “lunch-hook” her waist he’d entwine,
You’d almost think he was massaging her spine.
And thus clamped together they would trot and trip
And shake all the movements of the “Slovenly-Slip,”
The “Kitchen-Sink” and the “Box-Car-Bump,”
The “Cellar-Step” and the “Public-Dump,”
The “Old-Boardwalk” and the “Arctic-Shivver,”
The “Back-Yard-Dash” and the “St. Vitus Quiver,”
The “Old-Milk-Shake” and the “Slippery-Slide,”
The “Wormy-Wiggle” and the “Peruvian-Glide.”
The Moral is this, “When all’s done and said,
Why go to a dance, when you got music at home?”
—W. K. Edwards.
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