There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, br And all he could whistle was "Fiddle-dee-dee" - br A very provoking, unmusical song br For one to be whistling the summer day long! br Yet always contented and busy was he br With that vocal recurrence of "Fiddle-dee-dee." br br Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four, br That weird iteration repented him sore; br "I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun, br For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be done br That shall presently rid all creation and me br Of that ominous bird and his 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!" br br Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son br His awfully truculent little red gun; br The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin, br The "bang" it came out where the bullet went in - br The right kind of weapon I think you'll agree br For slaying all fowl that go "Fiddle-dee-dee"! br br The brave little soldier quoth never a word, br But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird; br And, while that vain creature provokingly sang, br The gun it went off with a terrible bang! br Then loud laughed the youth - "By my Bottle," cried he, br I've put a quietus on 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!" br br Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: "My son, br Right well have you wrought with your little red gun! br Hereafter no evil at all need I fear, br With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!" br She kissed the dear boy.