There’s a wonderful tree in the forest, six hundred forty feet tall.
With a nest of Robins in her hair,
And sap and knot holes everywhere,
And all of the things you would like to have if you could only have a tree.
A branch and a trunk and some leaves and a dog,
A dog who uses the tree for a lavatory.
(Who uses the tree for a lavatory.)
But alas, for the wonderful tree,
For soon, it will no longer be.
For hark, here come the lumberjacks.
See them saw and watch them ax.
Chippity chop. Choppity chip.
The top of the tree is beginning to tip.
(The top of the tree is beginning to tip.)
Watch out little Robins, your nest is slipping.
Watch out little knot hole, your sap is dripping.
Watch out little dog as you scurry around,
A giant Sacoya is falling down.
(A giant Sacoya is falling down.)
And you need lots of room when you fall,
If you’re six hundred forty feet tall.
There’s a pitiful stump in the forest, where the wonderful tree used to be.
And a most frustrated little dog,
Deserted by his favorite log.
But the tree has gone down to the lumber mill,
Where men transmogrify a tree,
And if our little dog doesn’t find it soon,
Very soon,
He’ll be in the need of psychiatry.
(He’ll be in the need of psychiatry.)
Meanwhile, back to the wonderful tree,
Which is now at the Scott factory.
Hark, hark, alak, and super hark,
Machines are stripping off it’s bark.
Strippity straps. Strappity strips.
They’re chopping the tree into hickory chips.
(They’re chopping the tree into hickory chips.)
Alas giant tree, they destroyed you, I guess,
For they sacrificed you to human progress.
“Now what are they doing?” I cry with a gulp.
They’re smashing you into a pile of pulp.
(They’re smashing you into a pile of pulp.)
But you’ll thank them for chopping you up,
When you find you’re a nice paper cup.
The moral here is plain to see,
For only god can make a tree,
But cups are made by fools like me,
And this Scott Paper Company.
They plant a brand new seed I know,
And so a tall new tree will grow,
So little dog if you have to go,
Just wait a hundred years or so,
For then in the forest they’ll be,
And almost identical,
Very botanical,
Perfect vicimally,
Of the original,
Marvelous wonderful tree.
Return to "My Son, The Box" -- The Allan Sherman CD Box Set
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