michaeldavisonline/lyrics

Let The Children Come To Jesus
Children:
When we come to Jesus, he is always there.
We can lean on Jesus. He will always care.
Jesus loves us each and everyone
Like a mother loves her children (2nd & 3rd xs "Like a father loves his children")
Flute solo
SATB:
Let the children come, let the children, let the children come to Jesus, Jesus.
Let the children come, let the children, let the children come to Jesus, Jesus.
For the kingdom of, yes the kingdom. For the kingdom, kingdom of Heaven
Belongs, belongs, belongs, belongs, belongs to such as these.
ALL
For until we become as little children,
And until we are sure what we believe in,
Only then can we come unto the Father
And the kingdom of Heaven be received! [Sing verses 1 and 2 together. Repeat.]

Alleluia for Chorus A Cappella
Alleluia! He is risen. Praise his holy name for he is risen.
For he is now arisen.
Eternal life, he gave us.
Now, let's be joyful
And glorify his name.
Sing we "alleluia"
For he is risen.
Alleluia! Praise his holy name for he is risen.

The Bird Song
I wonder why the flutist always has to be the bird,
When many other creatures one could name might be preferred.
The excerpts are not easy and they're often massacred,
So why do flutists always have to be the stupid bird?

They make us play a thousand notes in sixty seconds flat.
No kind of bird I've ever heard sounds anything like that!
Just once or twice, I'd like to be a chipmunk or a cat.
But not a double-tonguing parakeet. What's the deal with that?
I am sick, sick. Oh so sick, sick. I am sick of being the bird.
It can be a neat trick -
Stunning and electric!
It also can be quite absurd.

Oh, thank you Mr. Debussy for making us a faun.
You only did it once, but how the memory lingers on.
And every now and then we get to be a trickling brook.
But that stuff's just as tough and even has more notes and so we're still not off the hook.
So, I'm sick, sick. Very sick, sick. I am sick of being the bird.
It can be a great shtick -
A clever little gimmick.
It also can get on your nerves.

It's clearly getting harder not to face each day with dread.
With tweeting, endlessly repeating flute licks running 'round and 'round your head.
And oboe players never understand. They tell us we have all the luck
And love to ask us how we'd like to always have to be the duck.
Still, I'm sick, sick to my stomach. I am sick of being the bird.
First it sounds fantastic
Then a little spastic.
And then suddenly your chickadee sounds mentally disturbed!

So, if I had a genie who would grant me just one wish,
Every flute part with a twitter would be burned to a crisp,
Like "Rossignol" and "Carnival".
I'm really quite perturbed.
I wonder why Saint Saens could not have made that ditty slurred.
I am sick, sick, sick, sick, sick, sick. I am sick of being the bird.
It could be terrific
(Especially if your pads don't stick).
It can even be more than superb,
Cuz I love to play the flute. And you love to hear the flute.
So, why can't we be a flute and leave the chirping for the birds!