Oh, the good bandmaster Strauss

He is loved in every house

As he makes us, oh, so merry

With his cunning waltzing fairy,

And he drives away the blues

Putting dance sprites in our shoes.

When he was a little lad

He was neither good nor bad

But he ran away from home

And for years and years did roam.

When but fourteen years of age

He was loved by dunce and sage,

And great kings would kiss his hand

When dread Fever sealed his doom

Bandmen stood above his tomb

Playing farewell songs of love

Which they thought would go above,

To that far off mystic land

Where they hoped there was "a band."