Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do!
And the shoe flew high to the sky so blue
And the maiden knew 'twas a new shoe, too;
But she couldn't pursue the shoe, 'tis true-
Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do!


"Isn't that sweet, my pretty goat?"

"Sweet, do you ask?" retorted Bilbil. "I consider it
as sweet as candy made from mustard and vinegar."

"But not as sweet as your disposition, I admit. Ah,
Bilbil, your temper would put honey itself to shame."

"Do not quarrel, I beg of you," pleaded Inga. "Are we
not sad enough already?"

"But this is a jolly quarrel," said the King, "and it
is the way Bilbil and I often amuse ourselves. Listen,
now, to the last verse of all:

"The maid who shied her shoe now cried --

Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do!
Her tears were fried for the Captain's bride
Who ate with pride her sobs, beside,
And gently sighed 'I'm satisfied' --

Sing to-ral-oo-ral-i-do!"