A Dancing Fool

My wife wants me to learn to dance.
I told her I’m too old.
She said I won’t get older if
I don’t do as I’m told.

So now I’ll have to try it out;
I have to keep the peace.
It’s either that or get some help,
like calling the police.

I’ve tried my best, I really have,
but it’s not going well.
I’ll never get the hang of this.
It’s my concept of hell.

I’m really not cut out for dance.
I’m never on the beat.
My wife said that my problem is
that I have two left feet.

I guess that would explain a lot,
why my shoes never fit.
And why I never want to walk;
instead I’d rather sit.

Did she give me some sympathy?
Well, no sir, she did not.
There is one dance she makes me do.
We do that dance a lot.

We hokey-pokey all the time
‘cause I can’t get it wrong.
With two left feet, I have it made.
I even sing along.

You put your left foot in
You put your left foot out

(We haven't gotten to the right foot yet.)