He:)I won't dance, don't ask me.
I won't dance, don't ask me.
I won't dance, madame, with you.
My heart won't let me do things they should do.
You know what? You're lovely.
(She:)And so what? I'm lovely.
(He:)But, oh what you do to me.
I'm like an ocean wave that's bumped on the shore;
I feel so absolutely stumped on the floor.
(She:)When you dance, you're charming and you're gentle,
'specially when you do the Continental.
(He:)But this feeling isn't purely mental,
for heaven rest us, I'm not asbestos.
And that's why I won't dance, why should I?
I won't dance, how could I?
I won't dance. Merci beaucoup.
I know that music leads the way to romance,
so if I hold you in my arms, I won't dance
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