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Brass Bands Humour |
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The Ophicleide Written by Prof. Cabbage (of the horn mailing list)
The Ophicleide, like mortal sin Was fostered by the serpent. Its pitch was vague, its tone was din; Its timbre rude and burpant. Composers, in a secret vote, Declared its sound non grata; And that's why Wagner never wrote An Ophicleide Sonata. Thus spurned, it soon became defunct, To gross neglect succumbing; A few were pawned, but most were junked Or used for indoor plumbing. An so this ill wind, badly blown, Has now completely vanished: I nominated the saxophone To be the next one banished. Farewell, offensive Ophicleide, Your epitaph is chiseled: "I died of ophicleidicide: I tried, alas, but fizzled!" For more general humour, visit 
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