Cash for the merchandise
Cash for the buttonhooks
Cash for the cotton goods
Cash for the hard goods
Cash for the fancy goods
Cash for the soft goods
Cash for the noggins
And the pickins
And the frickins
Cash for the hogshead cask
And demijohn
Cash for the crackers
And the pickles
And the flypaper
Look, whaddaya talk
Whaddaya talk, whaddaya talk
Whaddaya talk, whaddaya talk
Where do you get it?
Whaddaya talk?
You can talk, you can talk
You can bicker, you can talk
You can bicker, bicker, bicker
You can talk, you can talk
You can talk, talk, talk, talk,
Bicker, bicker, bicker
You can talk all you want
But it's different then it was
No it ain't, no it ain't
But you gotta know the territory
Shh shh shh shh shh shh shh
Why it's the Model T Ford
Made the trouble
Made the people wanna go
Wanna get, wanna get
Wanna get up and go
Seven, eight, nine, ten, twelve,
Fourteen, twenty-two,
Twenty-three miles
To the county seat
Yes sir, yes sir
Who's gonna patronize
A little bitty two by four
Kinda store anymore?
Whaddaya talk, whaddaya talk,
Where do you get it?
Gone, gone, gone
With the hogshead cask
And demijohn
Gone with the sugar barrel
Pickle barrel, milk pan
Gone with the tub
And the pail and the tears
Ever meet a fellow
By the name of Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill!
NO!
Just a minute
Just a minute
Just a minute
Never heard of any salesman Hill
Now he doesn't know the territory
Doesn't know the territory?!?
What's the fellow's line?
Never worries 'bout his line
Never worries 'bout his line?!?
Or a doggone thing
He's just a bang beat, bell ringing,
Big hole, great go, neck-or-nothing
Rip roarin', every time a bull's eye
Salesman.
That's Professor Harold Hill
Harold Hill
What's the fellow's line?
What's his line?
He's a fake
And he doesn't know the territory!
Look, whaddaya talk, whaddaya talk,
Whaddaya talk, Whaddaya talk?
He's a music man
He's a what?
He's a what?
He's a music man
And he sells clarinets
To the kids in the town
With the big trombones
And the rat-a-tat drums
Big brass bass
Big brass bass
And the piccolo, the piccolo
With uniforms, too
With a shiny gold braid
On the coat
And a big red stripe runnin'
Well, I don't know much
About bands
But I do know
You can't make a living
Selling big trombones, no sir.
Mandolin picks, perhaps
And here and there a Jew's harp
No, the fellow sells bands
Boys' bands.
I don't know how he does it
But he lives like a king
And he dallies
And he gathers
And he plucks
And he shines
And when the man dances
Certainly, boys
What else?
The piper pays him!
Yes sir, yes sir
Yes sir, yes sir
When the man dances
Certainly, boys
What else?
The piper pays him!
Yessssir, Yessssir
But he doesn't know the territo