It Isn'T Far To the Dance Floor

Word Lyric #7 for Music “It Isn’t Far To the Dance Floor” Mister Sinew is just standing still, By the old phone booth on Pine Street. He was curb-walking, looking for a thrill, Now he is stopped, looking for place to eat. Into Clyde’s Café he casually saunters, Mister Sinew in shark skin, with dark Melissa in chains, She looks like a fish flopping out of the waters, Mister Sinew is up to his old games. Garçon! Garçon! A table for two please, There, by the blinking neon light above the door, Seat us there, in the cool cross breeze, And it isn’t far to the dance floor. Two hard cocktails with shrimp hors d'oeuvre please, And add a nip of rum, to put Melissa on her knees, But memories of Sister Mary Daniel returns to his brain And her monotone warnings of his coup de main. So Mister Sinew tells Melissa to get up from there, off the floor, And quickly he scoots her out through the back door. “Hey Ma! I was only lusting for a white whore, And sweet Melissa went running out my back door!” Into the traffic tangled throbbing, Sweet Melissa goes a-bobbing, Bobbing from every avenue and every confused street, Looking for anyone dangerous she might meet. But danger lurks in a ’63 Ford four-door, Bang! goes sweet Melissa, hit with guts flying galore, Mister Sinew pulls up in this loud rod with exhaust spewing, He walks over to her and asks “what are you doing?” Unable to speak or breathe or be understood, Sweet Melissa, in sections scattered, here and there, Answered the best she could, “I’m dead. Can’t you see? I am up here in the air! Garçon! Garçon! A table for two please, There, by the blinking neon light above the door, Seat us there, in the cool cross breeze, And it isn’t far to the dance floor.