On a tree by a river a little tom-tit sang
"Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow!"
And I said to him, "Dickybird, why do you sit, singing
"Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow?"
"Is it weakness of intellect birdie?" I cried,
"Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?"
With a shake of his ppor little head he replied,
"Oh Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow!"
He slapped at his chest, as he sat on that bough, Singing, "Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow!"
And a cold perspiration bespangled his brow, Oh Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow.
He sobbed and he sighed, and a gurgle he gave,
Then he plunged himself into the billowy wave,
And an echo arose from the suicide's grave, "Oh Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow!"
Now I feel just as sure as I'm sure that my name, isn't Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow!
That was blighted affection that made him explain, "Oh Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow!"
And if you remain callous and ob-du-rate, I shall
Perish as he did, and you will know why,
Though I probably shall not exclaim as I die, "Oh Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow!"
