In the lofty Berkshire mountains
Where they get the heavy snow
There's a manor known as Bucksteep
Where squeezebox players go
They wander through the valley
Their instruments in hand
And along come Saturday evening
They form a squeezebox band.
There are monster piano accordions
And concertinas too
Some folks screech their fiddles
While flutes go tootle doo
They bang upon their keyboards
And beat the Irish drums
One man picks a banjo
While another a guitar strums.
The diatonic players
With reeds both wet and dry
Send music through the treetops
Away up to the sky
There's music of the new world
And from far across the sea
They play and sing old folk songs
Oh so gloriously.
Later in the evening
They dance the jigs and reels
It's a good old fashioned barn dance
Where the timbers heave and squeal
They bounce the floorboards up and down
And rattle all the walls
And when the evening's over
They finish with a waltz.
So let's go back to Bucksteep
When September breezes blow
We'll play that free reed music
And feel an inner glow
We'll play and sing old folk songs
And limericks filled with mirth
For there's no place more like Bucksteep
To Heaven here on earth.
(I can't guarantee the originality of the tune I came up with, so use at your own risk)
So-so so so la so so-o mi
So-so so mi fa me re-e-e
Fa-fa fa fa fa fa so-o mi
So-o so so so fa re-e-e
So mi so so so la-a so
So so mi fa mi re-e-e
Re-mi fa fa fa fa so-o mi
Mi re fa mi re do-o-o