Rising is my horn,
Rising is my horn.
No more I feel forlorn;
I'm playing with the 'bone.
I am poundin' it alone;
My action on it's grown.
Rising is my horn.

Girl, I gotta take my hand,
Girl, I gotta take my hand,
And then up I stand,
Use my well-hung gland,
And then I'm gonna bend it
Until I am spent.
Gotta use my gland, yeah.

I do a killer solo
With every whirling note I blow.
Oh, how I long to play
Some trills in "My Way."
My horn ain't got a slide
Like trombone by my side.
A killer solo, yeah

High notes hit my horn;
Guys and gals, forlorn.
They rudely shout their scorn;
Their words are "Churl, go home!"
Then tomatoes are thrown,
And no more notes are blown.
Rising in their scorn.

Rising is their scorn,
Bright red orbs are soar'n',
Slimed red is my horn,
Blighted is my horn.
Bye! I'm sayonora'n'.