The tenor the tailor that clothes all the town.
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6; 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 1.
The breezes proclaim in their fall and their swell,
No jar in the concord, no flaw in a bell.
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6; 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 1.
3. The winds that are blowing on mountain and lea,
Bear swiftly my message across the blue sea,
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6; 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 1.
Stand all men in order, give each man his due,
We can’t be all tenors, but each can pull true.