My lady's lips are ruby red
And Cupid bows, indeed;
Now isn't it
a sorry shame
To waste them on a reed?
My lady's eyes are dark, dark brown,
Where love could live and die;
But O the sin that they should strain
To watch the notes go by.
Her hair is soft, her waist is slim
She's tender as a lamb;
But
soon like me she'll have a paunch
Above the diaphragm.
And O the shame and O the sin
And O the tragedy;
That Oboe takes
up all her time
And nothing's left for me !