Текст песни Can That Boy Foxtrot! - Stephen Sondheim, Sally Mayes

Can That Boy Foxtrot!

I know this grocery clerk
Unprepossessing
Some think the boy’s a jerk
They have my blessing
But when he starts to move
He aims to please
Which only goes to prove
That sometimes in a clerk you
Find a Hercules
He hasn’t much that’s plus
You might describe him thus:
A false alarm
A broken arm
An imitation Hitler and with littler charm
But oh, can that boy foxtrot!
His mouth is mean
He’s not too clean
What makes him look reptilian is the brilliantine
But oh, can that boy foxtrot!
Who knows what I saw in him?
I took a chance
Oh, yes, one more flaw in him:
He can’t dance
As dumbbells go
He’s rather slow
And as for being saintly, even faintly, no
But who needs Albert Schweitzer when the lights are low?
And oh boy, oh boy
Can that boy foxtrot!
Say, pal
Look at the classy
Coed queen
That gal
Wiggles her chassis
Good and mean
Look, she’s givin' us the eye
Strictly on the sly
Say, I think she’s tryin' to vamp us
See ya 'round the campus
Oh, man
Look at that hot stuff
She is hep
You can
Tell that she’s got stuff
See her step!
Maybe I could take a chance
Grab her for a dance
Make a few advances later
See ya, alligator!
Say, cutie pie
Wanna shake it with me, cutie pie?
You better shut up!
Say, Miss
Wanna swing it with me?
I’m a cut-up!
Gimme a chance!
Hey, cutie
Hey, Miss
Wanna shake it up with me?
I’m a cut-up
You better shut up!
You’ll feel
With me
As a feather and
Stop, there’s a cushion
Watch where you’re pushin'
Whoa, boys!
Let’s not fight, boys
Be refined
Line forms to the right, boys
Simmer down and tell me what you have in mind
I do the rumba
Turkey trot
Polka, gavotte
And tango
I do the conga
Bolero, castle walk
And fandango
Whoo!
I do the rumba
Turkey trot
Be!
Gavotte
And tango
Line!
I do the conga
Bo-
Right boys!
Castle walk
And fandango
All right, that’s quite enough
Let’s see you do your stuff
I pass
Too crass
You just can’t foxtrot
A shame
Too tame
You just can’t foxtrot
Right now as I speak of him
I hear those drums
And oh, the technique of him
He’s all thumbs
His jokes are quaint
And fairly faint
He may be full of hokum but I’ve no complaint
He often is a bore, but on the floor he ain’t
And oh boy, oh boy
Can that boy foxtrot! (Ooh)