Down among the strawberries, Up among the plums, Cheeping in the cherry-tree When early autumn comes, In our silver spectacles And sober olive suits. We’re very, very innocent; We wouldn’t touch your fruits. Well, maybe just a speckled one, A windfall here and there. But raid your precious strawberries? Oh no, we wouldn’t dare. Behold our bland astonishment, The charge is quite absurd! It must have been a parrot Or some other kind of bird. It must have been a satin bird; It must have been a crow. It couldn’t possibly be us; We are so meek, you know, With our silver spectacles. The accusation’s vile! How can you deem us guilty When we’re whistling all the while? Well, if you’ve caught us in the act There’s no more to be said. The plums are blue and succulent, The strawberries are red. And who’d refuse a dainty dish When early autumn comes? Oh, write a rhyme about us, man, And pay for all your plums.