Danny likes to disco dance,

The hustle makes him happy,

At school he’d do the boogaloo,

And could cha cha in a nappy.

 

His mum and dad are fancy folk,

Who like to dance the tango,

(And secretly on Sundays,

They dance the new fandango.)

 

But Danny likes to disco dance,

It’s the only dance he’ll do.

He doesn’t care the craze died out,

In nineteen-eighty-two.

 

His sister likes to ballet dance,

In a tutu pink and frilly,

She pirouettes across the stage,

But Danny thinks she’s silly.

 

‘Cause Danny likes to disco dance,

Wearing flares and platform shoes,

His afro hair is debonair,

John Travolta is his muse.

 

His brothers are both headbangers,

They do not like to dance,

They thrash their heads and smash guitars,

While wearing leather pants.

 

But Danny likes to disco dance,

Pointing fingers in the air,

He rolls his arms and taps his feet,

With disco-dancing flair.

 

His grandma is a country girl,

She likes to dosey-do,

The line dance champ of Gooligamp,

With trophies all on show.

 

But Danny likes to disco dance,

Beneath the disco ball,

He dances at the roller-rink,

His moves enthral them all.

 

There are many kinds of dances,

Like the salsa and the samba,

Hokey pokey, heel and toe,

The mambo and the rhumba.

 

But Danny likes to disco dance,

His groovy moves are fly,

Forget hip hop, hard rock and pop,

For disco will not die.

Disco ball image courtesy of Salvatore Vuono / FreeDigitalPhotos.net