The Band Used To Play In the Garden

Tune: The Band Played Waltzing Matilda

Click to Play

Oh I heeded my hormones as a stony young gnome,,
And threw caution away to the duster
And I flaunted my shape, and my gnomish round stones
And had good times, I'm telling you, Buster!
I found sweet gnomesses plenty with delicate swerves
And always excited to show me some curve
And as soon as dark fell, we would work up some nerve
Playing tickle and squeak in the garden.

We weren't much for fishing, or playing at boules
Or those other ridiculous poses
You wouldn't find my kind perched up on toad stools
Or scratching their chins with their noses.
As garden gnomes go, we were not from the mold
We were lusty, and busty and foolish and bold
And we never lost interest, just because it got cold,
Sometimes being of stone's an advantage!

My crowd felt at home behind one ancient hall,
In the yard of a Sergeant named Andy
He was glad to support us, boobs, peckers and all
Said he liked art that made him feel randy!
So there we would gather, and there we would live
Just awaiting the freedom the darkness would give
Why the thought of it now makes me stand like a shiv,
Life was good in that liberal garden!

But Tony got randy once too often, it seems
And he wed, as the priests did desire
She was shapely and all, but shared none of our dreams --
She'd flesh, but she didna have fire.
And the next thing we know, she's a raising a stink!
With her voice like a starling and her face burning pink
Yelling that we should care what the neighbors all think!
Though we'd never been troubled before that.

So my sweet Greta Gravel got wrapped to her neck
In a tuutuu of fiberglass filler
And my manhood's been buried and made me a wreck
How on earth could I possibly thrill her?
And it's polka dot dresses and underwear too,
She made Tony paint us in dots white and blue
Till we felt so refined that we wanted to sue!
Oh, our lives are a proper disaster!

So now every day I stand still on the lawn
Wrapped tight in my plaster bikini.
And I stand there long after the daylight is gone
For I have no more use of my weenie!
And as for old Tony, that stupid young toff
She's gone cold on him, claiming headache or cough
When a bra's made of ice, well, you can't tear it off
Any more than you can if its plaster.

And the nighttime has lost all its magic!
And we stand there all frozen and stalled
And year after year
Our numbers are fewer --
Someday no gnome will stand here at all!