'Twas market day in the village
And the crowds 'round the stalls was quite dense,
But what caught my eye was a stall piled 'igh
With musical instruments.

Then up to that stall came a little old man
'Is clothes was all tattered and thin,
But his face came alight as 'is eyeballs caught sight
Of a beautiful old violin.

He 'eld it up to the dealer,
Sayin', " 'Ow much is this one then?"
The dealer replied, "That's a Stradivarius.
It'll cost ya four pound ten!"

"I can't afford that," said the little old man,
And a lump came into my throat.
For him I felt sad, so I gave him what I had,
My only ten shilling note.

A crowd had all gathered behind us
So I quickly went round with 'is 'at.
When I finished I found I'd collected five pound
So I took my ten shilling note back.

Well, we gave to the dealer the money
And this old man, so shabbily dressed,
Picked up the violin, put it under his chin,
And he played like a man possessed!

He played fu-gues and cantatas,
And ora-ta-torios too.
By composers like Johann, Sebasti, an’ Bach,
To mention just a few.

He played waltzes by Strauss and 'Die Fledermaus’
And 'Tales from the Vienna Wood',
And Tchaikovsky's 'Piano Concerto'—
But he didn't play that very good.

The crowd were all hushed as the little old man
Said "I'll now play with dexterity
A well-known tune that may make you all swoon:
'The Flight of the Bumble Bee'."

Well! We'd never 'eard anything like it
As he played whatever he'd said,
But when the crowd clapped, something in 'is 'eart snapped
And down he fell—at our feet—dead.

So we gave back the fealer his diddle (er—the dealer his fiddle),
We took back our money, but then,
"No! No!" cried the crowd, in unison loud,
"We'll bury him, with that vi'lin!"

So 'twas then on that cold Tuesd'y mornin'
We laid the old man to his rest,
And we took that old fiddle, laid it down on his middle,
And we went away feeling depressed.

But the angels all welcomed the little old man
When he stepped into heaven that day;
'Till he took up the bow—o'er the strings it did go
And those angels all howled with dismay.

They put their wings over their ears
As 'Flight of the Bumble Bee' droned,
Three were sure they'd been stung! Six became quite unstrung!
And the other ten thousand all groaned.

The Stradivarius they then took from him
And gave 'im a 'arp instead.
He took one look at it, and then 'is head scratched it
Saying, "By gum, I think I must be dead."

So if you pass by yonder graveyard,
On a cold wintry night you may see
A little old man—with a harp in his hand—
Playin' 'Flight of the Bumble Bee'.