The following is the result of an idle moment of sleep between choruses:
As some day it may happen that a victim must be found,
I've got a little list — I've got a little list
Of society offenders who might well be underground,
And who never would be missed — who never would be missed!
There’s the Musical Director who the choir has to fear
Except the double basses who are only here for beer.
She makes us get our breathing right, and makes us stand up straight
She says that if we don’t then she’ll inflict a cruel fate.
And then there is her side kick – who she calls ‘accompanist’
They’d neither ‘f ‘em be missed – they’d neither ‘f ‘em be missed
There’s the 'juvenile' sopranos singing on the highest Cs
They’re hoping to be kissed – I’ve got them on my list
And the altos in the second row who can be such a tease
They’re music terrorists – I’m sure they won’t be missed
While the tenors in the middle can be wayward with their notes
It’s sometimes rather difficult to sort out sheep and goats
The basses at the back just keep on growling like some bear
They say that they are keeping up but who knows what and where
And at the front, the dreaded sight: the pompous soloists.
My dear! Those soloists – they’d none of them be missed.
