Some say that love's a little boy, And some say it's bird. Some say it makes the world go round, And some say that's absurd, And when I asked the man next-door, Who looked as if he knew, His wife got very cross indeed, And said it wouldn't do. Does it look a pair of pyjamas, Or the ham in a temperance hotel? Does its odor remind one of llamas, Or has it a comforting smell? Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges? Oh tell me the truth about love. When it comes, will it come without warning Just as I'm picking my nose? Will its knock on my door in the morning, Or tread in the bus on my toes? Will it come like a change in the weather? Will it greeting be courteous or rough? Will it alter my life altogether? Oh tell me the truth about love.