The Three Degrees

About the Song

“Dirty Ol’ Man” by The Three Degrees is a classic disco track that showcases the group’s signature harmonies and infectious energy. Released in 1973, the song quickly became a hit, reaching the top 10 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

The song’s catchy melody and upbeat tempo make it a perfect dance floor filler. The lyrics, which playfully accuse an older man of being a “dirty ol’ man,” are both cheeky and empowering. The Three Degrees’ vocals are full of personality and charisma, and their harmonies are perfectly blended.

“Dirty Ol’ Man” is a classic example of 1970s disco music, with its lush arrangements, funky basslines, and infectious grooves. The song’s popularity has endured over the years, and it remains a beloved classic among fans of disco and soul music.

In addition to its commercial success, “Dirty Ol’ Man” also garnered critical acclaim. The song was nominated for a Grammy Award in 1974 for Best R&B Performance by a Group.

“Dirty Ol’ Man” is a timeless disco anthem that continues to inspire and delight listeners. Its catchy melody, infectious energy, and empowering lyrics make it a must-listen for fans of classic dance music.

Stream The Three Degrees - Dirty Old Man (dnb remix) by Sukatumi | Listen online for free on SoundCloud

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Lyrics: Dirty Ol’ Man

Dirty
You’re a dirty ol’ man
You can’t keep your hands to yourself
You’re a dirty ol’ man
Go mess around with somebody elseNow I’ve done told you
That you can look but please don’t touch
‘Cause you don’t understand what I mean
Can’t you see I’m not old enoughYou say that ain’t, ain’t nothing but a number
You’re much too experienced for me
Ooh, all you wanna do is take my love
All you want is another victory

Dirty ol’ man
You can’t keep your hands to yourself
You’re a dirty ol’ man
Go mess around with somebody else

Next time you see me
You can speak but please don’t stuck
‘Cause I believed every word you said
And here I am with a broken heart

You won your game now
Don’t waste it on a date
No, no, no, no, no

‘Cause you’re a married man
And I’m still free
Ooh, all you wanna do is take my love
All you want is another victory

Dirty ol’ man
You can’t keep your hands to yourself
Dirty ol’ man
Go mess around with somebody else

A dirty, dirty
Dirty ol’ man

A dirty, dirty
Dirty ol’ man

A dirty, dirty
Dirty ol’ man

A dirty, dirty
Dirty ol’ man

Dirty

All you wanna do is to use me
All you wanna do is to take advantage of me
Dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty

Dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty ol’ man

You’re a dirty ol’ man
You can’t keep your hands to yourself
You’re a dirty ol’ man
Go mess around with somebody else

You’re a dirty ol’ man
You can’t keep your hands to yourself
You’re a dirty ol’ man
Go mess around with somebody else

You’re a dirty ol’ man
You can’t keep your hands to yourself

You Missed

WHEN “NO SHOW JONES” SHOWED UP FOR THE FINAL BATTLE Knoxville, April 2013. A single spotlight cut through the darkness, illuminating a frail figure perched on a lonely stool. George Jones—the man they infamously called “No Show Jones” for the hundreds of concerts he’d missed in his wild past—was actually here tonight. But no one in that deafening crowd knew the terrifying price he was paying just to sit there. They screamed for the “Greatest Voice in Country History,” blind to the invisible war raging beneath his jacket. Every single breath was a violent negotiation with the Grim Reaper. His lungs, once capable of shaking the rafters with deep emotion, were collapsing, fueled now only by sheer, ironclad will. Doctors had warned him: “Stepping on that stage right now is suicide.” But George, his eyes dim yet burning with a strange fire, waved them away. He owed his people one last goodbye. When the haunting opening chords of “He Stopped Loving Her Today” began, the arena fell into a church-like silence. Suddenly, it wasn’t just a song anymore. George wasn’t singing about a fictional man who died of a broken heart… he was singing his own eulogy. Witnesses swear that on the final verse, his voice didn’t tremble. It soared—steel-hard and haunting—a final roar of the alpha wolf before the end. He smiled, a look of strange relief on his face, as if he were whispering directly into the ear of Death itself: “Wait. I’m done singing. Now… I’m ready to go.” Just days later, “The Possum” closed his eyes forever. But that night? That night, he didn’t run. He spent his very last drop of life force to prove one thing: When it mattered most, George Jones didn’t miss the show.