Sing, you sinners

All you sinners drop everything

Everything

Let the melody and the harmony ring

Let it ring

Lift arms up to Heaven and sing

Ring-a-ding

Sing you sinners woncha sway n' swing

What a thing

Start with clappin' y'hands all about

All about

Don't be silent - Let the Lord hear y'shout

Shout it out

And jus' let the music come out

Of yr snout

Sing you sinners woncha sway n' swing

Check it out

(Dig the drift of what I mean)

In a world where there's no music

(Old Scratch)

Satan gets his kicks

(He's up to his tricks)

He'll be laughing up and down the banks

(Hee, hee, hee)

Of that river Styx

You're so wicked baby, and you're depraved

You can rave

It's apparent that you have misbehaved

To your grave

But if you should wanna be saved

Jus' behave

Take a listen now to the bird...

Stop all that chewin' yer cud - and all that standin' in the mud there

Swing people! Swing every chortle from yer mortal portal

I dig that everyone believes that all cattle prodigies

Are like a sneeze

Hard blowin'-missin one lick of blowin' talent to show

(If y'sing - y' gotta swing!)

But remember that the day will come when you

Will be just steak on a plate

(Folks, y'know it's fate)

So dig the music of the swing-o-sphere -

(before your swing arrives too late)

That's a little too dark

Still, it's true - we've got breath for such a limited time

What are ya, stupid, ya cows?? - you'd think to sing was a crime

In defense now; hence now; Here's comes Adele McCluck:

Mrs. Mockingbird, I must say you haven't heard

The friendly bellowing swing of our friends the cows -

As they shed their way from Teagarden to Fuller

Instead of spendin' ev'ry day jus' sneakin' around

To life another lick -

These cats work on their cow-tone, so when they get up to blow

They blow a fatter bone-tone into the ozone

(And furthermore...)

You tweety-birds are always singin' away

Never givin' up thought of what you say

We cows do - shedding takes up most of our day

So when we start and settle in to play - we can say

A moo is an array of what we've always known to be

The best and only way to play

(What we mean to say is...)

Before the band will letcha sing

(Sing with Fletcher Henderson)

You've got to get y'self to swing

(Like the Bean or Satch)

So your horn can blow - a single note or two

Of deeper thinking

(That's the way to swing)

So set your mind upon a tone

(When you're shedding all alone)

And you will have a cornerstone

(Like the bass trombone)

Blow your horn and take a bow

So that you're swinging like the cows

Pythagoras would be so proud of us