Cash for the buttonhooks
 Cash for the cotton goods
 Cash for the hard goods
 Cash for the fancy goods
 Cash for the soft goods
 Cash for the noggins
 And the pickins
 And the frickins
 Cash for the hogshead cask
 And demijohn
 Cash for the crackers
 And the pickles
 And the flypaper
 Look, whaddaya talk
 Whaddaya talk, whaddaya talk
 Whaddaya talk, whaddaya talk
 Where do you get it?
 Whaddaya talk?
 You can talk, you can talk
 You can bicker, you can talk
 You can bicker, bicker, bicker
 You can talk, you can talk
 You can talk, talk, talk, talk,
 Bicker, bicker, bicker
 You can talk all you want
 But it's different then it was
 No it ain't, no it ain't
 But you gotta know the territory
 Shh shh shh shh shh shh shh
 Why it's the Model T Ford
 Made the trouble
 Made the people wanna go
 Wanna get, wanna get
 Wanna get up and go
 Seven, eight, nine, ten, twelve,
 Fourteen, twenty-two,
 Twenty-three miles
 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
 Pickle barrel, milk pan
 Gone with the tub
 And the pail and the tears
 Ever meet a fellow
 By the name of Hill?
 Hill?
 Hill?
 Hill?
 Hill?
 Hill?
 Hill?
 Hill?
 Hill!
 NO!
 Just a minute
 Just a minute
 Just a minute
 Never heard of any salesman Hill
 Now he doesn't know the territory
 Doesn't know the territory?!?
 What's the fellow's line?
 Never worries 'bout his line
 Never worries 'bout his line?!?
 Or a doggone thing
 He's just a bang beat, bell ringing,
 Big hole, great go, neck-or-nothing
 Rip roarin', every time a bull's eye
 Salesman.
 That's Professor Harold Hill
 Harold Hill
 What's the fellow's line?
 What's his line?
 He's a fake
 And he doesn't know the territory!
 Look, whaddaya talk, whaddaya talk,
 Whaddaya talk, Whaddaya talk?
 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 brass 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 he shines
 And when the man dances
 Certainly, boys
 What else?
 The piper pays him!
 Yes sir, yes sir
 Yes sir, yes sir
 When the man dances
 Certainly, boys
 What else?
 The piper pays him!
 Yessssir, Yessssir
 But he doesn't know the territory