Way on back in 19,4,0
A dancin machine named tommy galico

He twisted his hips and pointed his toes to each beat that was dropped
And thrusted his harms to women to each note the drum bopped

So smoothly he fuzzed moves
Made women go confused
A wicked slick dude
Think he made the word groove

His fashion was obscure
With his shirt to his knees
His hat made of fur

Sweat all night
And cleared the dance floor
Making guys jelous right out through door

Stealing their date
And all their kisses too
A highly set pace
He would hop till his face turned blue

And still to this day when my grandparents speak of this man
With textbook moves
And Italian tan

The last to stay
They would always say
He was the last to go
That dancin machine, named *Tommy Galico