(To be sung/droned to the tune of ‘There’s a hole in my bucket’)

The piano tuner is visiting this morning to view my old joanna and investigate its somewhat honky-tonk sound – and its mountain of felt-noshing moths. I am sure all will go smoothly – but, for some reason, the anticipation has triggered a bastardized version of that old favourite ‘There’s a hole in my bucket’. 

There are moths in my piano,

Dear Tuner, Dear Tuner –

There are moths in my piano,

Dear Tuner, mega moths!

Then nuke them, you cretin!

Dear Player, Dear Player –

Then nuke then, you moron,

Dear player, nuke them!

But the felt is all buggered,

Dear Tuner, Dear Tuner –

But the felt is all buggered,

Dear Tuner, the felt!

So, treat it with poison,

Dear Player, Dear Player –

So treat it with poison,

Dear Player, treat it!

Now the…