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It was an itsy-bitsy aily-faily sky-blue cobalt ukelele
that he played for the first time today;
an itsy-bitsy naily-shaley morning-glory ukelele
that he bought to make musical hay.

He was so keen to go out in the evening;
he was just wild to go down to the pub;
he was so keen to become a musician,
take his instrument down to the club...

It was an itsy-bitsy ceilidh-waily golden yellow ukelele
that he bought though he hadn’t an ear;
an itsy-bitsy gaily-malely sunshine yellow ukelele
and he’s not getting better, I fear;
no, he’s not getting better; oh dear...

He was so keen to accept what they told him –
he was just wild to believe he could shine;
he was sure there was no need to practise:
he was confident he would be fine.

It was an itsy-bitsy capercaillie scarlet berry ukelele
that he bought though he can’t hold a tune;
an itsy-bitsy daily-playly scarlet postbox ukelele...
I’m divorcing the two of them soon;
yes, I’ll be uke-clear forever by noon...