The green frogs are getting in tune
For July's jamboree by the moon,
And you're down by creek with your lover
To hear what these pickers will cover.
Well, don't bother to pair up to dance,
There won't be a jam—not a chance,
For this string band can never agree
On the tune, or God help it, the key.
One plucks, two pick and two strum;
There's some plinks and twangs to a thrum.
And you think they're all raring to go
At some foot-stomping hill music? No.
Come back if you'd like in a week
To their gig in that slime-mantled creek,
And they're still tuning up for the fest.
And that's the greens at their best.
You won't find a one who will own a
Certified music diploma,
For all green frogs as a rule
Have flunked out of banjo school.