Ding-a-dong, ding-a-dong, what do I care!
I’ll sing you a nice little song of May Fair—
Five hundred people invited to meet
In a wee little house, in a wee little street—
Five hundred people all huddled together,
Discussing the faults of their friends and the weather—
One little pianist strumming an air,
No one to listen and no one to care—
One little lady attempting to sing,
Tears in the eyes of that poor little thing: