She can just dance

And have a good time doing it

To have a good time

Is done so well

Oh yea she know it

I dare not dance like her, that would be disrespectful

However I dare short story with rhyme

The dancer she, In poetic eye

The sweat upon her brow trickling down to a bare pudgy abdomen

Receiving thirsty “ooo’s” and “aahh’s” and “dayums” from over cologned overweight underclass elderly men

She can certainly dance and play to a crowd

It was apparent

As apparent as the 1st of every month you pay the rent

Im a slave to the beat

And dazzled bu those feet

Majesty, shutter steps, exuberance

We familiarized in light about life

Once the fluid gyrations had ceased so did my fondness of her

Even if her credit is fucked up and her face ain’t pretty

She can dance damn near perfect and not much else

What a pity