Lithe-limbed boys with secrets in your eyes come and dance where you'll be understood Dancing maid, leave your golden ball forgotten in the dark of the wood! Moon and moor and fire and fen we hunt in the night for a song, black hooves flashing as the flames fly high- you will know us well by the dawn. If you dare try the tune sing along!
CHORUS Wiry gypsy boy, take my hand and you'll not be found come mornin'. Sham to splendor and back again where the boot black hooves are shinin'. Once and again 'round the leaping fire, there's a secret some folk know: offer sweet mutton and not your hand-- better hope that you're dancing with Taglio! Better pray the Gaselli is Taglio
Do we kiss like poets imagine they do 'twixt the arms of the dusk and the dawn? By the green you shall know us and the boot-black hooves whirling 'round with your heart in pavane. We are drawn to your leaping fire and you feast your mind on our song. Bright eyes flash in the leaping light, e'er the rising of the sun we are gone. One or two of your number come along!
CHORUS Wiry gypsy boy, take my hand and you'll not be found come mornin'. Sham to splendor and back again where the boot black hooves are shinin'. Once and again 'round the leaping fire, there's a secret some folk know: offer sweet mutton and not your arm, better hope that you're dancing with Taglio! Better pray the Gaselli is Taglio!
Last night, Alec drummed like a demon fell- with the light, he is nowhere to be found The lass in green who caught our Alec's eye must've whisked him away without a sound! Where young Bess danced like a fairy faun not a trace, and you fear she is dead! Bold Gaselli wear the green just so and we'll dance you right out of your head, and leave behind not a sole drop of red!
Bringers of grace and tenders of fire, we dance to the beat of your drum. Fret ye not about the boot-black hooves in the corner of your eye, nay, it must've been the rum! Just as well not to think of the feast that's to come- saving poor Taglio, with a hunger we come!
CHORUS Wiry gypsy boy, take my hand and you'll not be found come mornin'. Sham to splendor and back again where the boot black hooves are shinin'. Once and again 'round the leaping fire, there's a secret some folk know: offer sweet mutton and not your hand-- better hope that you're dancing with Taglio! Better pray the Gaselli is Taglio Better hope that his name is Taglio!