"Fiddle-Dee-Dee"

There once was a bird that lived up in a tree,

And all he could whistle was "Fiddle-dee-dee"—

A very provoking, unmusical song

For one to be whistling the summer day long!

Yet always contented and busy was he

With that vocal recurrence of "Fiddle-dee-dee."

Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four,

That weird iteration repented him sore;

"I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun,

For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be done

That shall presently rid all creation and me

Of that ominous bird and his 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!"

Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son

His awfully truculent little red gun;

The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin,

The "bang" it came out where the bullet went in—

The right kind of weapon I think you'll agree

For slaying all fowl that go "Fiddle-dee-dee"!

The brave little soldier quoth never a word,

But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird;

And, while that vain creature provokingly sang,

The gun it went off with a terrible bang!

Then loud laughed the youth—"By my Bottle," cried he,

"I've put a quietus on 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!"

Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: "My son,

Right well have you wrought with your little red gun!

Hereafter no evil at all need I fear,

With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!"

She kissed the dear boy.

        [The bird in the tree

Continued to whistle his "Fiddle-dee-dee"!]