If you adore a frosty maid
And are afraid
Your love to speak,
If when you meet your ownest girl
Your sense whirl
Your knees grow weak.
This is I think the thing for you
At once to do To end your doubt
Try at a ball To tell her all
And let the music help you out.
CHORUS:
Ask her while the band is playing
Let the cornet speak for you
While the cello sweet and mellow
Aids the winsome maid to woo
What you think you'd like to tell her.
Let the soulful oboe playing
Ask her while the band is playing
She'll never say you nay.
If with your special precious pet
You've chanced to get into a spat,
Then for a week of dark distress
You've failed to guess.
Where you are at,
If woe and grief both dark and grim
Unto the brim have filled your cup,
Then at the ball, For mercy call
And let the music back you up.