Melody Time Page #5

You're a brave Little Toot

Can 't you hear that cheering crowd?

You have made your daddy proud

You are now a big toot, Little Toot

Yes, you're now

a great big toot, Little Toot!

There's poetry in trees.

Then one day a poet found it.

Then a music master

wove around it a melody.

An artist touched it, gave it form

in colours rich and warm.

Now we bring to you these three,

poem, picture, melody.

A simple tribute to a tree.

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree

A tree whose hungry mouth

is pressed

Against the earth 's

sweet flowing breast

A tree that looks at God all day

And lifts her leafy arms to pray

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair

Upon whose bosom snow has lain

Who intimately lives with rain

Poems are made

By fools like me

But only God

Can make a tree

With the intoxicating rhythm

of the samba,

we serve up a musical cocktail

with true Latin American flavour.

If three boisterous

birds of a feather

fall under the influence

of this tropical tempo,

don't blame them,

blame it on the rhythm of the samba.

If your spirits have hit a new low

And they long to hit a new high

One little musical cocktail

Will lift them to the sky

Mix a jigger of rhythm

With the strain of a few guitars

Add a dash of the samba

And a few melodious bars

And then,,,

And then,,,

You take a spark of bossa

One fandero

Take a wiggle

You've got the fascinating rhythm

of the samba

And if guitars are strumming

Birds are humming

Drums are drumming

Then blame it on the samba

It's the beat you cling to

The type of song you sing to

The kind of thing you swing to

With the beat in your feet

When you're bouncing

to the beat you're reeling

With the carioca feeling

But if you want to hit the ceiling

Here is all you have to do

You take a spark of bossa

One fandero

Take a wiggle

You've got the fascinating rhythm

of the samba

Here's a tall tale, just the way

the old timers used to tell them.

Pecos Bill was the roughest, toughest

shootingest cowpoke that ever lived.

Any story about Pecos

is bound to be strong medicine.

Maybe it's best

to sashay into it gently.

Shades of night are falling

As the wind begins to sigh

And the world is silhouetted

Against the sky

Blue shadows on the trail

Blue moon shining through the trees

And the plaintive wail

from the distance

Comes a-drifting

On the evening breeze

Move along, blue shadows!

Move along!

Soon the dawn will come

And you'll be on your way

But until the darkness

sheds its veil

There'll be blue shadows

On the trail

Move along, blue shadows

Move along

Move along

Soon the dawn will come

And you'll be on your way

On your way

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