MY FIDDLE IS MY SWEETHEART
 
div
 
My fiddle is my sweetheart, and I'm her faithful beau
I take her to my bosom, because I love her so
I clasp her gently round her neck, her vocal chords I press
I ask her if she loves me, and she answers "Yes, yes, yes"
She'll sing at every season, December or in June
But must have rosin reason, or will not sing in tune
It's not until I coax her well that she'll reveal her charms
But she will sing her sweetest song when once she's in my arms

Chorus: My fiddle is my sweetheart, and I'm her faithful beau
I take her to my bosom, because I love her so


She always is harmonic, she never flirts or winks
And though she takes a tonic she never eats or drinks
Her stom-jack's always empty but she never seems to care
While she can get some scrapings she will live upon the air
She'll answer every question, she'll instantly reply
And at the least suggestion, she'll laugh or she will cry
She'll grunt or groan, and sigh or moan, as I wish her to do
And, best of all, won't speak to all, unless she's spoken to

Chorus: So ladies there's a wonder, wonderful but true
A damsel who won't speak to all, unless she's spoken to.
 
div
 
Written and composed by Harry Hunter & G.H. Chirgwin
Performed by G.H. Chirgwin (1854-1922)
 
div
 
 
home spaceA spaceB spaceC spaceD spaceE spaceF spaceG spaceH spaceI spaceJ spaceK spaceL spaceM spaceN spaceO spaceP spaceQ spaceR spaceS spaceT spaceU spaceV spaceW spaceX spaceY spaceZ