My Minions

Behold my minions, my horde, my pillaging horsemen. Weapons gleaming in the blazing sun, we traverse the endless desert, conquering villages, collecting camels. We are predatory, stealing fruit and vegetables, busty women, craving power and conquest and high fiber.
There is only one cursed thing that forces us to dismount and engage in silly dancing. It happens whenever we attack Harmonica Village, where all the residents play harmonica, even the kids. We cannot resist. Our weapons are useless, our steeds embarrassed for us. When our ridiculous prancing finally exhausts us, we mount our stallions and ride away from these 12 tone demons.
Across this wasteland we ride, heads held high, none speaking of the travesty we have endured. In order to continue pillaging we must have a defective short term memory.
Or the camels win.