dixie moline

Dixie Moline was a dancer of sorts
At clubs where the o’erhead was low,
and the ceilings were leaky and drinks were a buck
and the patrons were usually named Joe.

She’d dreamed of ballet and of theater, too,
Since her days as a girl of fourteen,
But her mom ran away and her dad was a drunk,
and her hopes just eloped with her dreams.

She asked for no pity, she asked not for help,
just began waiting booths at “Big G’s,”
‘til the day her boobs blossomed, from here out to there,
and thought she, “I’ll just cash in on these.”

And she did just fine, by the way, story goes,
‘til the day Larry Bobby walked in
with a nod and a wink, said, “Howdy, there, ma’am,”
and melted her heart with his grin.

“I’ll make you my princess, I’ll make you my queen,”
he told her if she’d leave the show,
“But I can’t wait forever, don’t make sense to do,
“So, it’s never or now, shall we go?”

That was two years, last April, now Larry’s long gone,
And Dixie’s still pullin’ her shift.
Dancin’ and twirlin’ an’ smilin’ the smile
That’ll earn her a tip or a gift.

She thinks ‘bout him sometimes, talks ‘bout him too,
When late night the girls wish away.
She wonders with wonder ‘bout what might’ve been,
If she’d left instead’ve deciding to stay.

But, Dixie Moline was a dancer of sorts
At clubs where the o’erhead was low,
and the ceilings were leaky and drinks were a buck
the truth was always a guy name o’ Joe.