I'm thinking of taking up the Alpenhorn,
My parents will wish I'd never been born,

It's bigger by far than a bull fiddle bass,
Even when it's out of its carrying case,

Up in the hills I'll serenade the town,
Even for meals, I won't come down,

The band instructor won't want me to march with it,
When I do he'll have a conniption fit,

With two horn bearers I'll be striding in step
To a Sousa march with a callus on my lip.

by D. Edgar Murray