I also practise the piano Which is made from string and Meccanoshort "a" 'Twould not be ungallant To say that my talent Ain't mini or micro; it's nano.
That blasted tromboner's now tinklin' A piano. That bugger's no inklin' He's a Les Dawson bum When he's not George Chisholme As for me my ear drums are a-wrinklin'I hasten to add all persons referred to in this limerick are fictitious and that any resemblance to persons living, dead or undecided is a most unfortunate coincidence. Besides, my tromboning pianist doesn't know anything about meteorology or chemistry. He's an insurance salesman and he lives in Chipping Sodbury.
I thought I might repair my watch But my skills made the job one big botch All the springs, cogs and wheels Scattered under my heels It seems I'm a watch botch sasquatch.
There once was a milkmaid named Gretchen To say she was fugly 'twarnt stretchen' She eloped to Nantucket With her beau [and a bucket] So he'd have him something to retch in. (my apologies, it's the best I could come up with on the spur.)
I practice my trombone inside But I do leave the doors open wide So the the neighbours can squiz And see what a whizz I'm at doing strange things with my slide