| If you’d like to be a jitter bug,
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| First thing you must do is get a jug,
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| Put whiskey, wine and gin within,
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| And shake it all up and then begin.
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| Grab a cup and start to toss,
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| You are drinking jitter sauce!
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| Don’t you worry, you just mug,
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| And then you’ll be a jitter bug!
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| Hear this fat boy blowing his horn;
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| He’s been a bug since the day he was born,
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| His favorite jitter sauce is rye,
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| I swear, he’ll drink it 'til the day he die!
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| Toot your whistle and ring your bell,
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| Oh, butchie-wutchie, time will tell,
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| Don’t you worry, you just mug,
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| You’ll always be a jitter bug!
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| These four boys playing saxophone,
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| Order jitter sauce by phone,
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| Central, give me Harlem 4−9-4,
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| I think these bugs could drink some more,
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| They drink sauce from morn to night
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| And never stop until they’re tight,
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| Don’t you worry, they just mug,
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| They’re poor little jitter bugs!
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| Now, here’s old Father, a wicked old man,
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| Drinks more sauce than the other bugs can,
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| He drinks jitter sauce every morn,
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| That’s why jitter sauce was born,
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| See him shake with his trombone,
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| He just can’t leave that sauce alone,
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| Get along, Father, you just mug,
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| You’ll always be a jitter bug!
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| There’s Rip Van with his eyes a-twinkle,
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| We named him after Rip Van Winkle,
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| Like Rip, he’d sleep for twenty years
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| If he could get his fill of beer,
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| Rip drinks his sauce, gets on the stand,
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| Soon he forgets that he’s in the band,
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| Don’t awaken him, just let him mug;
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| He’ll always be a jitter bug. |