Lyrics of 'Rock Island' by The Music Man: The Musical

(Vern reed)

Cash for the merchandise, cash for the button hooks
Cash for the cotton goods, csh for the hard goods
Cash for the fancy goods
Cash for the noggins and the piggins and the frikins
Cash for the hogdhead, cask and demijohn.
Cash for the crackers and the pickels and the flypaper
Look whatayatalk. Whatayatalk, whatayatalk, whatayataalk, whatayatalk?
Weredayagitit?
Whatayatalk?
Ya can talk, ya can talk, ya can bicker ya can talk,
Ya can bicker, bicker bicker ya can talk all ya want
But is different than it was.
No it ain't, no it ain't, but ya gotta know the territory.
Shh shh shh shh shh shh shh
Why it's the model t ford made the trouble,
Made the prople wanna go, wanna get, wanna get up and go
Seven eight, nine, ten, twelve, fourteen, twent-two, twenty-three milew to the county seat
Yes sir, yes sir
Who's gonna patronize a little bitty two by four kinda store anymore?
Whaddaya talk, whaddaya talk.
Where do you get it?
Gone, gone
Gone with the hogshead cask and demijohn, gone with the sugar barrel,
Pickel barrel, milk pan, gone with the tub and
The pail and the fierce
Ever meet a fellow by the name of hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
Hill?
All but charlie and 2nd salesman: No!
Never heard of any salesman hill
Now he dosen't know the territory
Dosen't know the territory?!?
Whats the fellows line?
Never worries bout his line
Never worries bout his line?!?
Or a doggone thing. He's just a bang beat, bell ringing,
Big haul, great go, neck or nothin, rip roarin,
Every time a bull's eye salesman. Thats professor harold hill, harold hill
What's the fellows line?
Whats his line?
He's a fake, and he dosen't know the territory!
Look, whaddayatalk, whaddayatalk, whaddayatalk, whaddaystalk?
He's a music man
He's a what?
He's a what?
He's a music man and he sells clarinets to the kids in the town with
The big trombones and the rat-a-tat drums,
Big barass bass, big brass bass, and the piccolo,
The piccolo with uniforms, too with a shiny gold braid
On the coat and a big red stripe runnin...
Well, I don't know much about bands
But I do know you can't make a living selling big trombones, no sir.
Mandolin picks, perhaps and here and there a jew's harp...
No, the fellow sells bands, boys bands.
I don't know how he does it but he lives like a king and he dallies
And he gathers and he plucks and shines and when the man dances, certinely boys, what else?
The piper pays him! Yes sir,yes
Sir,yes sir, yes sir, when the man dances, certinely boys, what else?
The piper pays him! Yessssir, yessssir
But he dosen't know the territory!