“THE BANJO.”
Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling,
Ting-a-ling-a-ling,
Ting-a-ling-a-ling, ling,
Ting-a-ling, ling.
Under the window,
Down in the street,
Little brown curly head,
Little bare feet;
Pleadingly lifted,
Slumberous eyes,
Thrumming, fingering,
Nimble hand flies.
Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling,
Ting-a-ling-a-ling,
Ting-a-ling-a-ling, ling,
Ting-a-ling, ling.
Song of the Southland
Over the sea,
Sing, little Napolese,
Sing to me.
“Beautiful Southland
Over the sea,
Gayly and gladly
Sing I of thee!
Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling,
Ting-a-ling-a-ling,
So will I sing,
And so will I sing.
“Purple the mountains,
Purple the wines,
Sunny the hill-slopes
Clad with vines;
Sunny the skies are,
Balmy the air,
Time floateth dreamily,
Dreamily there.
Tirra, la, la, la!
Tirra, la, la,
Viva, viva,
Italia!”
Tattered cap held for
The pennies dropped down;
Off he goes wandering
Over the town,
Thrumming, fingering—,
Ting-a-ling-a-ling,
Ting-a-ling-a-ling, ling,
Ting, ling, ling.