It's just a piccolo
But everywhere I go
No one wants to sit next to me
It can be awfully loud
And can clear a crowd
But no need to be gloomy
It sounds like a squeak
Or like a piercing shreik
When you first try to toot one
You must stay on your toes
When you've got two piccolos
For to tune them, shoot one

It's just a piccolo
And very small, you know
Like a flute left in the dryer
It's great for calling dogs
Waking sleeping logs
No one can go higher
It's great fun to play
I practice every day
Wear earplugs at my labors
When the day starts, I go
And play on my piccolo
Pissing off my neighbors!

It... sounds just like a birdy
A birdy on steroids, a birdy
A birdy on steroids
Makes a handy pipe
Handy hash pipe, handy hash pipe
You know what they say
That we're different -- here is why:
Picc players get high

In the marching band, I
Get all the good parts
Always on top
There's no place to hide, nowhere to hide. TOOT!
Toot, tooty tooty toot, rooty toot

Better than a tuba
A tuba is bulky
A tuba, a tuba's too big!
Tweedle-ee, tootle-ee, tweedle-ee, tootle-ee
Tweedledum, tweedledee, poopa-lee, toot

Playing all those high notes
Those high notes, I can't hide those high notes
Those high notes, can't hide them
"Stars and Stripes Forever"
Has many, so many
They say those pitches
Will somehow affect my brain
But I am K.O.

Piccolo -- small, not puny
Echoes through the halls, bounces off the walls
Over here, over there, nobody's home upstairs
Nobody! Nobody! Nobody!
I've played too, too many damned high notes!