  Ri-tum tiddy-iddy, ri-tum-tum! Here I must sit for an hour and strum: Practising is good for a good little girl, It makes her nose straight, and it makes her hair curl. Ri-tum tiddy-iddy, ri-tum-ti! Bang on the low notes and twiddle on the high. Whether it’s a jig or the Dead March in Saul, I sometimes often feel as if I didn’t care at all. Ri-tum tiddy-iddy, ri-tum-tee! I don’t mind the whole or the half-note, you see! It’s the sixteenth and the quarter that confuse my mother’s daughter, And the thirty-second, really, is too dreadful to be taught her. Ri-tum tiddy-iddy, ri-tum-to! I shall never, never, never learn the minor scale, I know. It’s gloomier and doomier than puppy dogs a-howling, And what’s the use of practising such melancholy yowling? But—ri-tum tiddy-iddy, ri-tum-tum! Still I work away with my drum, drum, drum. For practising is good for a good little girl: It makes her nose straight and it makes her hair curl. |
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