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BIANCA, LUCENTIO, GREMIO & HORTENSIO:
A troupe of strolling players are we,
Not stars like L.B. Mayer's are we,
But just a simple band
Who roams about the land
Dispensing fol-de-rol frivolity.
Mere folk who give distraction are we,
No Theater Guild attraction are we,
But just a crazy group
That never ceases to troop
Around the map of little Italy.
We open in Venice,
We next play Verona,
Then on to Cremona.
Lotsa laughs in Cremona.
Our next jump is Parma,
That dopey, mopey menace,
Then Mantua, then Padua,
Then we open again, where?
We open in Venice,
We next play Verona,
Then on to Cremona.
Lotsa bars in Cremona.
Our next jump is Parma,
That beerless, cheerless menace,
Then Mantua, then Padua,
Then we open again, where?
We open in Venice,
We next play Verona,
Then on to Cremona.
Lotsa dough in Cremona.
Our next jump is Parma,
That stingy, dingy menace,
Then Mantua, then Padua,
Then we open again, where?
We open in Venice,
We next play Verona,
Then on to Cremona.
Lotsa quail in Cremona.
Our next jump is Parma,
That heartless, tartless menace,
Then Mantua, then Padua,
Then we open again, where?
In Venice.
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