It isn't a mime
That my line;
What a downer:
To be mum,
White, and dumb.

Those dudes come along,
Come on strong,
Then get a shot
In the moue. . .
Deserved, too.

I won't make you ill
With that drill that is mimey.
I'll make your day
But won't lay in wait, slimy.
And I'll make you a fan
Of saltimbanquey man,
Saltimbanquey man.

At me you won't jeer,
This I swear.
I'm not a churl.
I can sing,
And I swing.

You'll start to have fun
As I run,
Twirl and jump free,
Belt a song,
Clear and strong.

You won't have your fill
'cause you will, I think, find me
Droll as I play
Tunes in A, the minor key.
And I'll make you a fan
Of saltimbanquey man,
Saltimbanquey man.