Can't They Dance the Polka

Oh, once I loved a pretty girl That I called Rosie mine, Her cheeks were red, her hair did curl, She was as straight as a line.

And away Rosie, My own Ro' Oh, my New York girls, Can't you dance a polka?

She lived down in a little street Close by the old clock tower; And ev'ry eve we used to meet And wander by the hour. One night I went unto her house, And knocked low at the door; And heard my Rosie's little feet A-tripping o'er the floor. She ope'd the door and whispered low "I can't come out tonight, My father's here, you'd better go, Oh! dear, I'm in a fright." I said, "I'll not go off like this So do not be afraid; Just ope the door, give me a kiss, Rosie, my pretty maid." "Oh leave me quick, be off my dear If you care for my life; The man whose footsteps you now hear Calls me his wedded wife." And so I wandered quick away, Before her husband came; I thought unwise 'twould be to stay, Not knowing Rosie's name. I wedded then a New York girl As true to me as steel; She puts my brain quite in a whorl So happy I do feel.

As I came down the Bowery One evening in July I met a maid who asked my trade And a sailor John said I Ch: Then away, you Santy, my dear Annie, Oh you New York girls, can't you dance the polka? To Tiffany's I took her; I did not mind expense. I bought her two gold earrings, They cost me fifteen cents. She said, "If you're a sailor, Now take me home you may," But when I reached her cottage door She unto me did say: "My young man he's a sailor, With his hair cut short behind; My young man he's a sailor, And he sails in the Black Ball line."

As I was lumbering down the streets of bully London town, I spied a Yankee clipper ship, to New York she was bound; Ch: And hurrah, you Santy, my dear honey — Hurrah, you Santy, I love you for your money.