| The tension is there in the hall as they stand |
| Soon the dancing will start |
| To square old Syd Watter’s band |
| Anticipation is calm, mainly under the arm |
| As they wait for the dancing to start |
| Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow |
| There’s a plumber from Hackney with a hooker from Bow |
| Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow |
| What once held up high I’m afraid now hangs down low |
| The costumes are strange just like the people inside |
| Some men four foot six tall, some women four foot six wide |
| Still the floor’s reinforced for the onslaught to come |
| As they wait for the dancing to start |
| Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow |
| Yes they glide round the floor just like hippos in snow |
| Quick, quick, slow, slow, quick |
| Here’s the Irish contestants, yes it’s Doreen and Mick |
| They each have a number so it’s easy to spot |
| Those who can tango and those who cannot |
| With their arms in the air and their legs wide apart |
| They prepare for the dancing to start |
| Good lord a couple out there are really having a go |
| He’s turned upside down, their bodies now intertwined |
| What’s their number, ay yes, sixty-nine |
| And Doris there who makes all her own clothes |
| Unfortunately it’s Sydney who’s wearing them |
| Formation teams in a line |
| Some full of hope and some full of wine |
| You know the reason why they’re there more or less |
| And their idol’s dress |
| And our solo tenor saxophonist has done for music |
| What Walt Disney has done for blue movies |
| Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow |
| Everyone’s eyes are on the big silver cup |
| Come in number seven, 'cos your time is up |
| It must please one couple out there on their own |
| 'Cos everyone else has gone home |