“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 songFor one to be whistling the summer day long!Yet always contented and busy was heWith 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 doneThat shall presently rid all creation and meOf that ominous bird and his ‘Fiddle-dee-dee’!”
Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her sonHis 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 agreeFor 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 treeContinued to whistle his “Fiddle-dee-dee”)