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I Have a Song to Sing-O 
I Have a Song to Sing-O 
(W.S. Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan) 
I have a song to sing, O!
 Sing me your song, O! It is sung to the moon by a love-lorn loon Who fled from the mocking throng, O! It's the song of a merryman, moping mum, Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb As he sighed for the love of a la-dye. 
cho: Heighdy! Heighdy! Misery me, lackaday dee He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb As he sighed for the love of a la-dye. 
I have a song to sing, O!
 What is your song, O? It is sung with the ring of the songs maids sing Who love with a love lifelong, O! It's the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud Who loved a lord and who laughed aloud At thge moan of the merryman, moping mum Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb As he sighed for the love of a la-dye. 
cho: Heighdy! Heighdy! Misery me, lackaday dee He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb As he sighed for the love of a la-dye. 
I have a song to sing, O!
 Sing me your song, O! It is sung to the knell of a churchyard bell And a doleful dirge ding dong, O! It's a song of a popinjay, bravely born, Who turned up his noble nose with scorn At the humble merrymaid, peerly proud Who lov'd a lord and who laugh'd aloud At the moan of the merryman, moping mum, Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum 
Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb As he sighed for the love of a la-dye. 
cho: Heighdy! Heighdy! Misery me, lackaday dee He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb As he sighed for the love of a la-dye. 
I have a song to sing, O!
 Sing me your song, O! It is sung with a sigh and a tear in the eye For it tells of a righted wrong, O! It's a song of a merrymaid, once so gay, Who turned on her heel and tripped away From the peacock popinjay, bravely born, Who turned up his noble nose with scorn At the humble heart that he did not prize; So she begged on her knees, with downcast eyes, For the love of the merryman, moping mum, Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb As he sighed for the love of a la-dye. 
cho: Heighdy! Heighdy! Misery me, lackaday dee His pains were o'er and he sighed no more For he lived in thr love of a la-dye.
 Heighdy! Heighdy! Misery me, lackaday dee His pains were o'er and he sighed no more For he lived in thr love of a la-dye. 
From The Yeomen of the Guard AJS Apr98