30.11

The lad bows and plucks his fiddle 
That is so big you couldn't hug its middle 
It isn't one you lift up by your chin 
nor is it a 'Cello.

Much bigger nor them! 
It is so big that you stick it to the floor
It reaches the sky and you climb on a chair 
And a brown sound comes from big BASS 
And when it is silent it goes not in a case 

It goes in a great big brown bag   
Of plastic and filling up the car 
With space left only for the musical lad 
who spars like a bouncer with a great big heel  
With the big brown loaf of sycamore and steel