Copyright, 1892, by Wm. Rohfing & Sons.
Words by Frank Marion. Music by Eduard Holst.
Of all the winged insects that make us rave and tear.
There's none that with the household fly that ever can compare;
He's with us in the morning, he's with us, too, at night,
And only ceases buzzing when we blow out the light.
And did you ever notice if you haven't any hair
Upon your scalp, the little fly is sure to gambol there.
Oh, fly, darling little body;
If I could only catch you, you would not be so naughty;
Of all the insects in the land there's nothing like the fly,
When he begins to buzz on your nose, oh, my!
And when the day is peeping, if you try to lie a-bed,
The little fly turns somersaults upon your arms and head;
And yet the learned tell no the house-fly is of use.
As he purifies the atmosphere, by swallowing the juice
Of vile malarial gasses, and thus adding to the wealth
Of us poor suffering mortals by keeping us in health.- Chorus.
And if you try to hit him, then at once away he flies.
You cannot catch him napping, for he's got two thousand eyes;
I truly hope in heaven the air is clear and pure.
So that we'll not be called upon the fly to there endure.
For an able-bodied angel must not swear with earthly vim,
He will have to grin and bear it, if there are flies on him.-Chorus.