On a tree by a river a little tom-tit Sang "Willow, titwillow, titwillow" And I said to him, "Dicky-bird, why do you sit Singing 'Willow, titwillow, titwillow'" "Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?" I cried "Or a rather tough worm in your little inside" With a shake of his poor little head, he replied "Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
He slapped at his chest, as he sat on that bough Singing "Willow, titwillow, titwillow" And a cold perspiration bespangled his brow Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow He sobbed and he sighed, and a gurgle he gave Then he plunged himself into the billowy wave And an echo arose from the suicide's grave "Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow"
Now I feel just as sure as I'm sure that my name Isn't Willow, titwillow, titwillow That 'twas blighted affection that made him exclaim "Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow" And if you remain callous and obdurate, I Shall perish as he did, and you will know why Though I probably shall not exclaim as I die "Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow"
-- Gilbert and Sullivan
Carl