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")