I’m a fussy little fellow In my kilt of glowing yellow; As about the garden ways I bow and bend, Many a melody I bring to you In the soft, gay songs I sing to you With a cheery little grace note at the end— “Chip, chip.” Oh, I never miss that grace-note at the end. Summer into autumn passes, And among the seeding grasses, ’Mid the midges, goodly provender I gain. Little for your presence caring, Confident and greatly daring, I will charm you with a sudden, sweet refrain— “Chip, chip.” Oh, a very soft, yet valiant refrain. When the time has come for nesting, Our sagacity attesting, We erect a neat, twin-chambered bow’r of love; Mother in the nursery sleeping With the babes, while sentry keeping, Father has his parlour-bedroom up above— “Chip, chip.” Oh, it’s cosier—and quieter above. In my kilt of golden yellow I’m a friendly little fellow, And my spangled sable crown I proudly bear. Tho’ my way be meek and lowly, I can capture, win you wholly If you’ll listen to this cheerful little air— “Chip, chip.” Oh, I’ll charm you with my cheerful little air.