"galico" poems
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
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC