When Salome plays the drum The crowd goes deaf and dumb Swept up by dark sensations Partially the heat More so it's the beat She moves in syncopation Gazelle on the run Skirts slit past her thigh The boys let out a sigh The beat begins to quicken Crowd ascends the stairs Climbin' on the chairs The plot begins to thicken Phasers on stun Take them to the carnival Let them hear the conga Tonight the tempo feels so right Tomorrow may be wronga Gendarme close her down Make her leave the town She caught the flight to Rio With nothin' to say Wavin' from the plane Pours pink champagne She toasts her loyal trio It was a lucrative stay Oh, won't you take them to the carnival Let them hear the conga Tonight the tempo feels right Tomorrow may be wronga Oh, won't your take them to the carnival Let them play for hours Tonight the weather feels so right Tomorrow may be showers